Veins
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: Bolshevik or not, the opposite was his brother. They were made of the same components. The bones, the marrow, the veins. To destroy Andrei would be to destroy everything.
1. Chapter 1

They watched her writhe upon that shabby blanket, that dirt floor, their mouths coiling and their filthy hands shaking. Brows were furrowed and lips had gone dry, as though a harsh and icy wind had beaten the moisture from them.

Their mother was dying. Their mother, that devoted woman named Natasha. Her womb had swollen, her hide bled of its entire flourish. There was a tumor beneath all that strong muscle, those worn and strong limbs, and their pockets were barren of a cure.

They took up jobs at a soap factory so far from home, at the other end of St. Petersburg, attempting to pull that beaten woman from the clutches of death. But in that fatal game of tug-of –war, mortality was more powerful. It always was.

There were only enough rubles for bread and tea, a few saved away for the doctor, a few away for that desperate cure. A few away for hope. A few away for prayer.

But all the dreams in the world could not save Natasha.

Her close was drawing near, and all that remained was torturous waiting. Attending in a body that still managed breath, but had deceased a long, long time ago.

They could sense it. Death lied within the putrid dirt beneath their freezing toes and it contaminated the stagnant air that suffocated every living thing within that home. The animals would not come near any longer. Even the rats took their leave. It was as though the sick thing's plague was stronger than their very own.

"Come here…" Sound dripped in a whisper.

The young men followed orders.

"I need to tell you something. It's been welling up in me for years…I'm not quite sure I have the time to allow it out."

They kneeled at her corpse.

"What is it, Mama?"

Natasha' heart appeared in those filmy blue eyes and she swallowed hard, as though her mouth had stolen vodka and the evidence needed to be tossed away.

"You know that I used to be a noble. And I left when I became pregnant with either of you-because they were incredibly harsh. I had become a laughing stalk. And then I traveled here, to St. Petersburg, in hopes of finding your father…"

"But you couldn't, could you?"

Then came the stabbing silence, where either boy could not tell if their mother had been subjected to sleep or consideration. Even speaking exhausted her marrow, as though Natasha was ripping at the tendrils of her soul, just for a few phrases.

"No…I did." Gasp. "I found him. But I couldn't approach hm. I felt terrible, dropping so much upon his shoulders when there was too much stacked there already…We even made eye contact, once. But he didn't recognize me, with two babies in my arms and my face laced in dirt. I looked familiar, but it could not have been me. Natasha wasn't a peasant. Natasha didn't have two sons. Natasha lived in Belarus. It couldn't be her."

The siblings did not know what to make of so much new material, all piled about their pitiable hands.

"His name is Ivan Braginski. A Russian. I just thought I should let you know…" She grew limp. The one on the right checked her pulse with an intrepid heart.

And the opposite grasped at her palm.

"Mama, I'm sorry…"

"No, Andrei. It's not your fault." Those foggy wells were uncovered. "You and Dmitri are my life. You're good boys, and I'm proud of you. This is no one's predicament but my own."

"Mama…"

"Go to work, either of you. You can't afford to be late." That gaunt appendage devoured Andrei's palm, which had been discolored a heavy red due to birthing dye day after day.

A certain illness curled within their stomachs as they watched that poor creature slide to the possessive hands in unconsciousness. Andrei Massaged her chilled phalanges between his crimson clutch and tried to rise from that ugly floor, suddenly so taken by gravity.

"I love you, Mama."

There was not even acknowledgement against those mounds.

Sore tendons were left to their owner, and those young men began their descent into the inferno, so skin could grow even redder and backs even sorer.


	2. Chapter 2

They found her dead that morning.

Dmitri awoke Andrei with his sorrow.

But when those azure sights came to the vindictive dawn, the cause of those mangled sobs was already well clear. Andrei rose and devoured the face that had allotted so many features to his own. The dainty nose, that plump, yet reserved mouth, those cheek bones pressed so high.

Her dull blond hair looked even more colorless, grey and melding with that constantly moist ground.

"She wanted to say good-bye, yesterday, when she was speaking. She wanted to say good-bye. I could feel it. But she too exhausted. Our poor mother."

Those still bull's eyes looked upon the face of their identical brother; how Dmitri's visage crinkled beneath his melancholy. How those large hands nearly sank into his cheeks and his screaming mouth. They seemed far too massive to come from the flesh of such a small and demure thing. Had she remained a woman of the court, attraction would press to her, as all those ornate jewels used to. But those days were long buried. They had gone sour.

"What are we going to do now?" Dmitri managed quandary through terrible grief.

"We're going to dig a hole."

Those six words cut like a dagger.

"I'll get the shovel…"

Then came the salt.

Dmitri folded.

As one twin dug the hole, the other made the tombstone. An old cutting board with words engraved upon it by a dull razor.

_Natasha Alfroskaya: Beloved and Loyal Mother. _

The woman had prepared her vey own tombstone, having taught those boys to read and write.

As Andrei removed all that sullen dirt, the syllables of Ivan Braginski tormented him. They choked him as a boa constrictor and they beckoned like sirens. His very existence was shaking, those veins, those bones, down to the very blood, he shook.

But the burn only affected the fragments that held Russian features. And those remnants could not be labeled. What had his father granted him? His flesh? His stature? His bones?"

The chasm was great enough.

Natasha's corpse was carried by either of her sons, and gently, they granted her eternal rest, Those wild golden tresses splayed out all around her frame, as a golden aura erupting from the crux if an angel. Finally, relief was allowed back upon her expression, those lids not crinkling in their agony and those mounds devoid of their plight. The poor woman looked even more heavenly with that budge beneath her rags, as though she had died with child.

It was unfortunate that her sons knew better.

"What the hell kind of funeral is this? Our mother and we can't even give her a casket…Look at her." Dmitri's heart was breaking within his palms and those shards cut like fresh glass. "All of it was for nothing. All the work…And your hands."

"They only gave us enough for food, Dmitri. We could have saved her had it not been for those pigs. They all know we had a sick mother." The statement was absorbed. Now was hardly the time. "I'm going to find that man. And I'm going to demand an answer."

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Our father. _Ivan Braginski._"

"What will that gain us?"

"An explanation." A heavy breath was stolen from that cool air. "Put the tombstone in. I can't look at her any longer."

So that make-shift memorial was set in its place. The earth swallowed that still woman, the only formally pregnant with her parasite. That blackened and soaked soil enveloped her, embraced that corpse and adhered to her nonchalant skin as though she was simplistic stone. Natasha has become a marble statue, immortal within that trench. Beneath the dirt and the snow and all those oppressive clouds. Light did not come that day. Only mocking little flakes with the audacity to drift.

The earth was patted out, and the brothers, who shared the very same appearance stood in their solemn mourning, desperate for redress to warm their clotting blood.

"Dmitri, why don't you say something? You're far more poetic than I am."

And the distressed young man looked to his mother's grave and he swallowed hard, as though courage would be pulled from his stomach if he could simply dig deep enough.

"You were such a good woman, mother. You were kind and you were strict and you were loving. You always took care of us, even when it was incredibly hard. You taught to read and write and learn, even when we didn't have enough money for school." Those freezing droplets were stolen by battered thumbs. "I remember once when you made us read _War and Peace_ as punishment, when we weren't listening. You told us that intelligence was a gift and a privilege, not something that just occurs in everyone. And we hated it…But I understand why you forced us to do it." Lips twisted and went into seizure, unable to function. "You saved up your money and bought us books for Christmas…We'll always love you for that."

"It's like she waited for our day away from work before she went…"

Dmitri's core collapsed completely and those sobs, once shared with thought, had been mutilated and torn.

The siblings embraced one another.

"I'm going to find Ivan."

Dmitri was sobbing into his twin's shoulder.

"And I'll strangle him once I do."

A few hours past and the dour pair assembled their tattered coats and set out into the bustling city. They found those towering edifices and they placed their inquiries, emotionless statements somehow converting to infinite curiosity.

"Do you know a man named Ivan Braginski?"

"Do you know where the Braginski residence is?"

"Yes, does a man named Ivan Braginski live in St. Petersburg?"

"Still?"

"Can you tell us where?"

"Спасибо."

That pair ran around in dizzying circles until the sun sank into the snow. Until magenta and violet and rose pigments dances in fire across those clouds, which never seemed to subdue.

And at length, they found themselves before one of those glorious mansions plopped directly in the center of that turning city. It might as well have been the winter palace.

A plaque upon the door read, 'Braginski Estate' and either son glanced to one another with the entire day inside their eyes. There was a new sort of void locked within them, as though their mother grasped a section of their cores before she was lost amongst the worms.

Andrei knocked upon the door, because he could read his sibling's thoughts, loud and poignant as he if he had written it against that chest.

The threshold creaked from its solid frame.


	3. Chapter 3

Andrei forgot momentarily that he was going to strangle his father. After a long and nearly painful discussion with the butler, they were finally allowed into that grand edifice, and they eyes drank of all the embellishment that lined those extravagant walls.

It was enough to cause them to drop the memories of their mother, the grudge against that harsh society, all the pain, but only in ephemeral time. There was still disgust at that rich display, the flavor of dirty coins washing those once clean tongues.

This man must have owned the world.

And through those ornate hallways, they traveled, thoughts of sundry shades occupying their minds. For a moment, the elder brother wondered why it was so very pertinent they arrive that day. Why they could not mourn and then seek out the phantom power that had crafted so much destruction.

Perhaps it kept them occupied.

A means to run from that corpse centered so near to the humble shack.

Now they could regard the portraits about those handsome barriers, the furniture and the perpetual wealth. The porcelain vases painted like lavish eggs, the golden rimmed mirrors and those numerous and unnecessary chambers.

It was a new kind of virus that flipped their stomachs.

A room with regal double doors was reached, servants opening those great portholes, a chamber soaked in unneeded pleasantries. A man lied beneath those pearly white covers, arms left above those numerous layers and back propped against the head board. With a glance furtive in exasperation, he studied the faces of the intruders he had given access to.

And they studied him.

It was not difficult to believe that those three held relation.

The man within that inviting bed wore the same tone of flesh, the very same dull blond that conquered the sibling's scalps. The same lip structure, the same sort of build. (One could tell by looking at the man, he was quite enormous when standing.)

The supposed Ivan Braginski drenched that pair, their lanky forms, those solemn faces, yearning for solace. But however emaciated the set was, they undoubtedly resembled the figure at rest. The Russian man had looked in the mirror enough times to be educated in that fact.

"…Am I seeing double, or are there truly two of you?"

"There's two of use, sir."

"I see." Attention kissing to the window. "Who told you I was your father?"

"Natasha Alfroskaya."

Sound pricked memories.

"She was our mother."

"_Was?_" Focus granted to the twins.

"She died today."

"_Today?_ Then what are you two doing here? Should you be preparing for a funeral or-"

"We don't have the money for a funeral. We buried her near out home. And we said a few kind words."

"How terrible…" Ivan looked to one of the men standing inside that luxurious room. "Boris, fetch these boys some chairs." Gazes then waltzed. "What are you names?"

"I'm Dmitri and this is my elder brother, Andrei."

Syllables were mouthed out, as though the man had developed an appetite for those titles.

"Why didn't you help her?"

It was Andrei who spoke.

And the accused had gone mute.

"Andrei…"

"You could have prevented his. Look at your home. We've ruined our hands and broken our backs in attempt to save that woman, when we were paid hardly enough for meals. How could you not have known?"

"Natasha never told me…When she left the court because she was pregnant, I wasn't certain is it was my doing. I had heard the news months later, and even though we were companions, our affair was somewhat brief. A number of things could have occurred in our time apart. Natasha might have moved on from me, but if her children were mine, I thought she would have sought me out. I would have taken either of you in, but no one had ever come forward."

"So you fuck her and leave?"

"_Andrei!_"

"Didn't the thought ever cross your mind, more than just a short period? You could have checked up on her. And you saw her in the streets one day. You made eye contact."

"No one knew where she had run off to…And there are several women with children in the streets. It could have been anyone."

Andrei stared. "I suppose that makes everything alright, doesn't it? Excuse me. I'm going home to my shack and my dead mother." Andrei turned for the door as Boris returned with the chairs.

"It doesn't make anything alright. Please, don't go…"

So the angered sibling did not.

"Please, come nearer to me. I want to see your faces."

They progressed forward upon those handsome marble tiles, polished until they shone like glass.

"Are you certain either of you are my sons?"

"We only know what our mother told us."

There were painful seconds comprised of weighty thought, fat as anvils.

"Well…If I had sons they would probably resemble you two. You have my height. That's not something one can acquire just by drinking enough milk. We all have quite a bit in common."

The boys sat within their chairs.

"I'm sorry for all that has happened to either of you. I truly wish I had known…But I'd like to get to know you. There are guest rooms you can stay in for tonight. And in the morning, we can decide what is to be done." A horrid cough tore through his innards all so suddenly, his breath falling from the metronome and into the feral. Ivan Braginski swallowed hard, regaining his composure. "Excuse me. I haven't been feeling well lately. But as I said, you both are welcome to stay, and if you prefer, you can remain here and speak with me. I would like to know all about what had happened."

Had it not been for the expression and that burning mass of crimson rage, Andrei might have very well said, 'I'd rather sleep on the cold hard ground than one of your disgusting beds.' Then he would have spit upon those attractive tiles and left, never to see supposed father again. But the lethargy held him to the marrow and the sorrow choked him like a noose and the anger devoured life from drunken blood.

"I'd like to bathe and lie down."

"Of course; of course. Do whatever you like. Boris will show you around."

And the elder left with the servant, leaving Dmitri to his newly found family, who wore a sympathetic smile against those tired lips. "Your name was Dmitri, wasn't it?"

"Yes. That's right."

"Are you hungry, Dmitri? We'll be eating supper soon."

For some reason, that invite hit like a hammer to a cracking church bell, and the entire day suffocated that sibling as though it was composed of unclean air.

His face twisted; it bent. And hardship stole him as the reaper to its unfortunate victims.

Muffled sobs passes Dmitri's throat and the freshly donned father sunk into a hole saturated in guilt. That sentiment was thick as tar.

"Dmitri, I'm sorry."

The sick man managed to escape his bed and engulf that pained boy in dependant weight. Arms conquered that torso and a shoulder was supplied for the draining agony. No, he did not know this young man. He did not know if his blood was kept within that son. But it did not matter. The poor thing was caught within a bear trap of suffering and all that was needed at that very count was a form to depend upon.

It was odd to think those two shared veins, and had only met moments ago.

But there was indeed a strange chemical bond, a sort of connection only made between two people of the same marrow.

The minutes were born.

And then they expired.

Dmitri managed those coming tears.

"I'm sorry…In a few hours everything has completely changed. I've been trying not to break down since I came from my door step."

"I understand. It's hard to lose everything in a matter of hours."

A nod. "May I bathe as well? I'm filthy."

"Of course. I'll show you to the bathroom."

And the two moved along those coiling halls, soaked in their riches and their embellishment, the elder man holding a cane while the younger questioned what had happened to him. But the only thing that pulled those feet was the promise of warm water and cleanly flesh. Dmitri did not wish to see any more soap, nor did he wish to enter that factory ever again. But it was alright. Because after being crippled by death, fat, and lye, Dmitri and Andrei could still move forward.

Loss had engendered gain; when a door is slammed shut, a window is made to be gaping.

Perhaps they had found that light.

Ivan left his son to that door and three lives both ended and endured reincarnation. Always, there was something new.


	4. Chapter 4

They slept like the dead. They ate as starving animals. They woke like drunks.

Andrei and Dmitri slept within the very same room, because to be separate would simply be unorthodox. They rose about the same hour, that pretty clock singing out a melody as it ticked out beats upon the wall.

No attention was paid to that chamber drenched in those expensive decorations and kept in a constant state of beautify. Either felt sick to their stomachs, knowing that selling any one of those pleasant artifacts could feed a family an entire week. Perhaps a month. It was money utterly gutted and bled out.

Regardless, those brothers met up with their father, who resided beneath those many blankets and fought through wild fits of coughing. The chairs lingered from yesterday, remnants of company.

The siblings assumed their places. Because they had been called in, as though they had made an appointment with the Tsar.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. We were tired."

Andrei did not move his voice from his throat.

"I'm sorry. Who is who again?"

"I'm Dmitri."

The other was left to assumption.

"I see. Andrei, do you speak often?"

"Usually, yes. But this is a very solemn time in my life. I don't feel much like talking."

"Hmm…" There was understanding found about the father's expression. "Well, I thought about what should be done, and I want to offer this home to either of you. You're welcome to stay, if you like. Or, if you'd rather live somewhere else, my doors will always be open for a visit. And if you never return, well. I can't say that I blame you. I'm not certain what I would feel if I was caught in the same fate." Solace was granted within those blue eyes printed against the faces of the pair. "I'd like to get to know both of you. I'm so happy to find that I have family…" A pause. "Do either of you have work today?"

"Yes…We do."

"Where do you work?"

"In the soap factory at the far end of the city. I package the soap while Andrei makes the dye…"

"Is that why your hands are red?"

"Yes. That's exactly why my hands are red."

Again, that man held thought, then a short coughing fit. "My driver can take you. What time do you have to go in?"

"Today, at nine."

Ivan regarded the whispering clock on the western most wall. "Then you should get going. It's eight thirty-two now. Unless your boss wouldn't mind you being a little bit late."

Andrei could not help his laughter. "A little bit late could cost us our jobs. They'll tell us, 'we'll hire men who can show up on time.' We've been late once before."

That aristocrat was unsure of how to formulate response.

So he managed to come from his sheets.

As those heavy legs were thrown from the side of that bed, the man's stomach lurched, pain twisting that visage and squeezing those eyes well shut.

"You can tell us where to go…If you're in pain."

"It would take longer to explain…" The cane was taken, the ivory rod keeping that large man from the floor. "What time to do you come home from work? Maybe we can have dinner together."

"Nine."

"So long?" a few steps were completed. "Did they give you a choice in working so many hours?"

Again Andrei had to stifle mirth. "Нет. Of course not. But it's not like we would work any less. We had someone to look after."

Suddenly, those doors spread and a woman dressed within a nurse's uniform arrived, stamping her little boot against those tiles. "Mr. Braginski. What do you think you're doing out of bed?"

"What's the matter with standing up?"

"Nothing, but you know I have to give you medicine soon. And Franz will want to do another test. You knew this was scheduled for this morning. Why do you have guests?"

"They were surprise guests. And they need to go to work. I was going to show them to my car."

"Well, you know the doctor will have a problem with that." Those piercing emerald sights studied those odd siblings, their visages, and their builds. "Are these your relatives?"

"Oh yes…My sons."

"_Sons?_ You have _sons?_" A sweetened German accent curled about those syllables. "Don you _tell_ me those sorts of things! I'll have a heart attack!" A snow white palm grasped at that petit chest. "Where did you get _sons?_"

"The ghetto." Andrei.

"Oh, how sad. You'll have to tell me all about it. I never knew Mr. Braginski had any family." The beauty mark upon her cheek seemed to yell in all that eccentricity. "Did you two say had to go to work? I can take you to the garage. Because Mr. Braginski _knows_ he's _supposed_ to be in _bed._"

"Alright, alright, alright." Ivan lowered himself against those marred sheets. "You win. Go show them the garage. You know where I'll be, Ellis."

"Yes, sir." The petit girl cast a warm grin to either of those misplaced souls. "Just follow me."

And they did.

Both Andrei and Dmitri studied that strange and youthful thing. She was quite small, the average height for a woman, but thin. There were still curves about her figure, however little her frame may have been, and that lily white flesh seemed to make those blaring green eyes even more apparent, as well as those plump lips amplified by that demure spot.

She would be stunning nude.

"What was your name?"

"I'm Ellis. What are you names?"

"I'm Andrei and my brother is Dmitri. Where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from Vienna. My brother, Franz, is here with me too. He's one of the finest doctors in Europe, so when they called him to Russia to diagnose Mr. Braginski, I had to come along. We got here about a year and a half ago, and look. I can already speak the language." They turned a corner. "I didn't know hardly any Russian before I arrived." There was a brief silence occupied by the input of shoes. "Tell me about yourselves. Why didn't I know of you two before?"

"Well…" Dmitri's words clung to the base of his throat, choking him. "It's a long story."

"You don't want to tell me?"

"The wound is still fresh."

"I see. Well, that's alright. Maybe we can speak later…" Ellis turned around a moment. "You two are so tall. I bet Mr. Braginski is proud to have sons like you."

Dmitri's heart was breaking through his sight; Andrei only offered a gaze conveying comfort.

'It will be alright, Dmitri. I promise. Everything will be alright.'

They worked well together. Dmitri would quell rage and Andrei would pull his brother from the mud. They saved one another; supported one another. Loved one another when the whole of Russia could find no sympathy. They played the role of shields and swords and warriors, all parts to the same whole.

"Well, here we are. The driver is usually in."

"Thank you, Ellis."

"Of course. Не за что."

The little woman ran away and the young men came into that chamber, witnessing a man standing near a handsome black automobile, reading a novel and smoking a cigarette. He looked up, perplexed.

"We need a ride to work."

"Well, I need a lot of things, but that doesn't seem to matter, now does it? Who are you two?"

"We're Andrei and Dmitri Braginski." Those last syllables burned like hell fire. "And we need a ride to work, _comrade._"

"Braginski, huh? Where do you work?"

"St. Petersburg Soap. I don't think it's too far from here."

"I know where that is…Get in. We'll be there soon."

"Thank you."

So they got in. So they left. So they sat in silence as the city engulfed them, all that bitter snow and pretty women dressed within their handsome furs.

"Andrei, what should we do?"

"I don't know, Dmitri. What do you want to do?"

"…I'm not sure if I can stay in that shack much longer. We don't even have beds." Misery infected his noise. "If our father wants us to stay, we should stay. It's so much better than lying on filthy blankets and drinking filthy water and fighting filthy snow. If we keep our jobs-" He had to pause. "Maybe we can buy a decent coffin for our mother."

"She's already been buried…"

"I know, but we can have someone take her out, can't we? I mean, it just seems wrong that-" Palms served as a mask for that coiling expression Dmitri squeezed his eyes closed.

"It's alright…" Andrei stole his brother into an embrace. "That's a great idea, Dmitri. That's what we'll do. But you have to be strong. Only for today. _Just be strong for today_. And then we'll come back and you can be as upset as you want to be. But for now, we have to be strong, for our mother."

But that distraught worker only seemed to exhibit more of that aching sentiment.

"It's alright, Dmitri." Andrei fastened his lids and drew the other in nearer. "It's alright…"

They were three minutes late, but no one had noticed. Then they went their separate ways and got to working, Andrei to his dye and Dmitri to his wrappers. The labor took their minds from all that had passed in so few hours; their mother, their father, their poverty, the pain. All became cleaned within that scented realm, as though it all had dissipated in a fog of that rich perfume.

No one had ever complained of their scent. Always, either man smelled of blooms, some days lavender, some days rose, some days lilies. But Andrei's palms were constantly scarlet, and Dmitri's were always soft.

Natasha loved it when her darlings would return home, taking their hands from them and surrounding her face in that scented flesh. "My sons smell nice," she would observe, as though a conversation was held with another. "But my poor Andrei and his hands…" Then she would embrace them, and tell them dinner would soon fill their stomachs.

The day wrenched on.

And hours later, the prisoners were emancipated.

The driver was waiting for them.

"Were you here the entire time?"

"No. Mr. Braginski remembered that you were off at nine." The door was held open. "He wants to speak with you as well."

"Please don't hold the door open. You don't have to degrade yourself in such a way."

The driver gave them an odd look. "Why are you two going to work? Your father has more money than he knows what to do with."

"We met out father yesterday. Before that, we lived in the slums. It's up to every citizen to do something for the community, even if their fathers are well off, even if it's just working in a soap factory. And we've got hands. We can open a car door."

The porthole was closed. "Of course. But let me take you home."

And for the second time in their lives, Andrei and Dmitri rode inside an automobile, either folding beneath exhaustion, far too beaten to even enjoy experiencing such a rarity.

They returned with tired wells and voided energy.

But Ivan was still found.

The lower class fell before the higher, inhabiting ornate chairs.

"You said you wanted to speak with us."

"Yes…I was wondering if you made a decision. If you'd like to stay or not. You're welcome here anytime. And it would be fine if you'd like to move in. I know it's hard to be somewhere with so many memories, and it might be better to simply start over." There was a certain solace within those gazes. "I'd like to have breakfast tomorrow morning, before you go to work."

Neither were certain of what to say.

"Are you leaving?"

"No…Would you mind if we stayed?"

"No! No. Of course not! Please, stay as long as you like. Do you want to collect your things and bring them here? I can have that taken care of…"

"We can get it ourselves, thank you."

The kindly man was quieted.

"Thank you for offering." Dmitri knitted his numerals together. "We can go tomorrow after work."

"But that's so late."

"That's alright…"

"Well…Do whatever you like. If you want something, don't hesitate to ask."

"May we go to sleep?"

"Of course. You don't need to ask about that. But aren't you hungry?"

"We're even more exhausted then we are hungry."

"Have you eaten today?"

"No."

Mr. Braginski took a bothered expression.

"Please have dinner. And please ask your manager tomorrow if you can work a little less. It's not right to spend so many hours busy and have almost no time to eat. You don't have to live that way…Not if you don't want to. I'll take care of you." That mouth coiled into a strange line. "Please. I would appreciate it."

Before Andrei's rage could boil and spill over, Dmitri answered. "We'll ask tomorrow."

"Thank you." The aristocrat rested. "I'm glad I met you both. You're free to do as you please."

"Thank you, sir."

And a grin parked against the older man's visage.


	5. Chapter 5

Dmitri came into that grand chamber, two forms crowding around his father, one being the young woman from the previous day and another the new son had not yet met. There was a German dialogue between the two figures and no one had seemed to take notice of the friendly intruder.

"Just relax, Mr. Braginski." The minuscule hands of the woman over took that colossal palm, offering a kind of comfort as her counterpart pricked the man with the tip of that horrid syringe. Ivan had his lids compressed, as though he could lose consciousness had he watched that terrible process. Perhaps it would have been comical, seeing a grown man frightened of a vaccination, had it not been so sad.

"You see? That wasn't so horrible."

The Russian was released from his capacity and all parties took notice to that accidental witness.

"Good morning…"

"Good morning. Can we help you?" The one who spoke was the doctor, a young man with the same emerald wells as the slender creature at his side. The spectacles were pushed higher upon the bridge of his nose with a strong index finger and a bit of that ink black hair was swatted from the owner's brow.

"Oh, well…"

"That's my son, Dr. Edelstein."

"Really now?"

"Where did your brother go?"

"Andrei is still asleep. I tried to wake him, but he's too tired."

"Well, it is only seven in the morning. Why are you up?"

"I came to have breakfast with Mr. Braginski, before I go to work."

"Where do you work?"

"At a soap factory. I put the wrappers around the soap once they're ready to be sold."

The doctor nodded while the entire room sank into the silence.

"Did I come too early?"

"No…" Ivan raised his voice. "Of course not. What do you want for breakfast? I'll have the cooks make whatever you like."

"Well, some eggs would be nice, if it's not too much to ask."

"I can tell them for you, Mr. Braginski." It was Ellis who spoke.

"Would you mind?"

"No. I'll go right now."

The sick man nodded and that fairy was off, grasping at the hand of her sibling and dragging his from along with her. There was a brief argument in their mother tongue and either disappeared as ash into snow.

Father and son were left to stare.

Dmitri took one of the chairs left in the corner of that room, bringing it before the elder's bed.

"Thank you for coming, Dmitri."

"It's no problem. I wanted to thank you for your kindness." Those sapphires connected with their donor's. "You could have easily called us liars and sent us away. I'm not all too sure I can believe all this myself."

"Well, it's understandable. In a course of a few days, everything had been turned completely upside down. Regardless, I'm happy you came. I wish Natasha had told me about what had occurred. I would have opened my doors to all of you. No one even knew where she went." Bent brows. "I'm sorry, Dmitri. I know it must have been hard, but I'd like to make it up to you. Andrei as well, but he's not here at the moment…Was he truly in bed?"

The boy did not respond.

"You can tell me the truth."

"Well. I tried to get him up, telling him we had to eat breakfast with you, and in more of less words, he said he would get his own damn breakfast and I was free to do as I pleased. He's usually not so upset, but…"

"It's been a bad couple of days."

"Yes. Andrei doesn't really feel sorrow. I mean, he does. But instead of getting depressed he becomes angry. That's how he deals with pain, I think. I've seen him get so frustrated, he makes himself sick and has to lie down. If we weren't twins, most people wouldn't think we were related. But we need one another. I'm not sure what I would do without Andrei." A few stoic tears were birthed within those wells and promptly erased. "I'm sorry. It's hard to talk about anything anymore."

"No, that's alright. It's completely natural…" A pause. "Will you tell me about yourself? What do you like to do? What kind of things do you like? What's your favorite color?"

"Oh. Well, my favorite color is blue. And I like reading. I also like chocolate and vodka, sometimes." For a moment, those lips curled. "And snow ball fights. But I hate soap. I really, really, really hate soap. And the paper that wraps around soap. I hate that too."

Amusement affected the father. "Have you considered another job?"

"Да. But mama didn't want us to work somewhere dangerous. There were positions open to build railroads and tunnels, and even a building, but we were told to just stay where we were. The worst I've gotten are a few paper cuts and Andrei's hands…It's still better than breaking an arm or losing a finger. Mama told us if we ever lost a finger she'd take a few more because we were so stupid."

"It's very sad…To see people with missing limbs or injuries."

"Yes. It is sad. Especially for the men and woman with families. If they can't work any longer, their poor children starve. That happened to a woman we knew. Her husband died of cholera and she couldn't go to work due to a broken leg. One day, they all just went away. We checked on their home and the whole thing was empty."

"How horrible…Did Natasha go to work? Did she get married? What happened?"

"She got a job, but she didn't wed. When we were young, she brought us with her. She made corrections to outfits in the back room of a clothing store. People would come in and ask to have dresses made or fixed, usually incredibly wealthy. We were told as long as we were on our best behavior, we could be there. Mama kept us occupied by giving us a book to read and asking questions about it later. There were a lot of old women there. They liked to pat Andrei and me on the head and pinch our cheeks. And when we were old enough, mama let us stay at home with a book when we weren't out doing odd jobs. During our free time, we wrote essays. Then we would ask her why she made us read and write so often, especially when we were already exhausted from the work we could do. And she told us it was the best education she could give. When she wasn't occupied, she would teach us math and whatever else she could." Those cheeks were damp once more. "Mother was a smart woman and had gone to school for a very long time." Tears were wiped dry.

"I'm sorry, Dmitri…I remember going to school. To be honest, you don't need all of the things they make you learn. The literature was important, and the history was important. Everything else faded away with time. At least, to me. But I'm not a scientist or an architect. I still have a lot of my books. I can show you to the library after work today, if you're not too tired." Stillness for thought. "Do you think your boss will give you fewer hours? Well…Maybe you don't even want fewer hours, but it would be nice if we could have more time together. I do leave this room, if you can believe it."

The son laughed. "I believe you."

Then silence.

"Dmitri, what sort of clothing do you like?"

"Clothing? Oh…Well. I don't know. What kind of clothing is there?"

"Hmm." That visage took up a mask of near mirth. "I guess…What kind of shirts do you like? What kind of trousers? Do you like cotton or silk, maybe another kind of material I'm missing?"

"Oh…I've never really worn silk. Mother had some old dresses she ended up selling. But…" Lips dented. "You don't have to get me any clothing, unless you were just curious."

"How many outfits do you have, Dmitri?"

"Well, between my brother and I, there are four shirts and three pairs of pants. And we each have a pair of shoes."

Ivan looked as though that admittance had capsized his stomach. "Maybe Dr. Edelstein will allow me to take you and Andrei to the tailor. I haven't been out in quite a long while…Do you have an overcoat?"

"Well, my mother made a coat of old blankets for either of us."

"You wore blankets?"

"Yes, sir…"

The man rose from his space upon that bed, going to the grand wardrobe upon the wall, opening those polished doors. A lovely black coat was removed from those innards, shining brown buttons lining that center and a wide collar sitting about those boundaries. It was beautiful. An article that would require a fortune.

It was surprising such an artifact was not wrapped in a veil.

"Here; you can have this. It's a little bit old, but it's nice and warm."

"Oh no…I couldn't."

"Please, Dmitri. I haven't worn it in years. If someone could put it to use, I'd be happy."

"Are you certain?"

"Да. Yes…Does Andrei want one? Do you know what he likes?"

"He likes red. But he'll probably return it to you."

"Well…" Those garments were paged through. "You can try. If he doesn't want it, that's alright." A crimson coat was removed of the same caliber, and Ivan nearly limped over to his child, presenting an entire treasure.

"Thank you…"

Then a woman arrived with two trays over inhabited by gorgeous golden eggs and two tall glasses of milk. The pair continued to speak as they ate, near as though they had known one another far longer than only a few mornings.

When it was time for that pair to leave, Andrei was presented with that glorious scarlet layer by Dmitri, who was already dressed within his own.

"What?"

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"A coat."

"From who?"

"Who do you think?"

They stared.

"Andrei, just think about keeping it. He told me wasn't even using it. This coat is wasted if it's simply lying around, gathering dust."

"I can buy my own coat."

"But you don't _have to_. We can save up more money if we don't buy things we can have for free."

"We don't need to buy coats. We have coats. Our mother _made_ us coats."

"They're falling apart. Please, Andrei. You should have seen the look in his eyes. Just take it."

"I would take the coat." The driver.

So Andrei took the coat.


	6. Chapter 6

So those siblings moved in. So those siblings worked fewer hours. So life tossed them forward. Dmitri wept. Andrei did not speak. And that man made attempts at kindness.

Their things had been moved, what little there was. Either son traveled back to that dejected hovel, and they gathered their tattered rags and soiled memories.

Their mother's grave was not glanced upon. Either knew they were not yet ready to accept the truth. The scabs had not yet formed; any more cuts and they would bleed to death.

And days expired. Either found a pile of new clothes at the foot of their new beds, kept inside new rooms. Dmitri wore his in a sort of fresh relief, having grown tired of the rags that seemed to constantly line his itching flesh. Those rough fabrics could not even be evaded inside those hopeful dreams. And Andrei simply looked upon them, their pretty white bow, those articles folded to perfection, that note that read, 'I hope you enjoy them.'

For a brief moment, that indignant warrior felt a pang of guilt for being so disgusted. He knew the lonely old man and trying. He was trying very hard. But Andrei had never been one for sympathy. There was a fire in his belly when those rich women looked at him and whispered.

"Oh, what a poor young man."

"Oh, how unfortunate his life must be."

"Oh, look at that coat."

"Oh, are those old blankets?"

The one in question only walked further from them.

With a kind of rage, those fabrics were accepted. Andrei did not complain, nor did he thank that generous and sick being. The silence clung to this throat like debris in a clogged drain.

In his free time, while Dmitri became acquainted with their father, the other would roam those hallways in a kind of relentless search. Almost as though satisfying those restless limbs kept Natasha' phantom from his mind, kept her from his dreams. Insomnia gathered within those hours and drove him into the halls. Because Andrei could not eradicate the past, even from his own conscious.

And one day, the interesting Austrian-Hungarian girl followed him.

It went on, five full minutes before he turned around.

"_What?_"

"What, what?"

"What are you doing?"

"Walking. What are you doing?"

Those serious brows foiled. "Do you have a problem with me?"

"No."

"Then why are you following me?"

"I was wondering where you were going. You seem to go there a lot, wherever it is. Have we arrived yet?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Well…Why not?"

"_Why not?_ Do I look like I have somewhere to be? That stupid old man told me to stop working and now I have nothing to do."

"Why do you hate your father so much?"

"He's not my father! Hell, Dmitri is more of my father than that dead beat ever was. This whole goddamn thing is his fault."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What makes you think I owe you an explanation?"

The tall one tried to escape, but Ellis only stalked him further.

"Will you stop following me? What's your problem?"

"What's your problem? I thought you could use some company."

Andrei only used his frustrated palm to brush back those dull blond follicles, sapphires retreated behind golden lashes.

"If you don't have anywhere to go, why don't you just come with me? Everyone else is busy and Franz doesn't want to leave the house. Besides, you look like you could use someone to talk to. I'm a good listener."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then take this opportunity and distract yourself. It's not good to think so much. You'll make yourself sick…Come on, I'll even let you buy me something."

"Go buy yourself something."

"I can if you give me money."

"I work in a soap factory. Does that seem like a rich man's job?"

"No…But I bet you could shake down your old man for few rubles."

"I'm not asking him for anything. I can use my own money. Not that I'd give anything to strange women."

"Oh, so you do have money?"

"No. Not for anyone but my mother."

"I haven't even told you where I'm going."

"I don't care."

"I'm going to the book store.

"Did you not hear me?"

"I did. But I don't care either." Ellis smiled, those red little mounds seeming to illuminate her entire face, a lantern beautiful in healthy light. "Just come with me. You can even call me your girlfriend."

"I don't want you to be my girlfriend."

"Then don't, but come out with me. Leave your thoughts in the hallway for a little while. The air will do you some good."

Andrei considered it.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Great! Let me go change."

So that odd girl ran away from her newly forced companion, that nurse's uniform seemed to burn against her demure skin. The young man was uncertain as to what to think of that odd creature. She was lovely as she was twisted.

However, he waited. For whatever strange reason.

And then she returned, dressed in a simple blue gown and a heavy purple overcoat, lined in fur at the sleeves and collar. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. I suppose so."

A nod and the tall one's crimson hand stolen as Andrei was pulled along those glorious straights.

They walked in silence for long minutes, The Bolshevik looking down upon Ellis in all her mangled attraction. There was a charisma to her, that scalp black as ink and that bun held against her crown coiled tight as rope. Her bone structure was so delicate, yet there was something uneasy about her, something dangerous. As though your soul would be devoured the moment you came to close. Ellis was a spider. A beautiful little recluse.

Those thin numerals felt tight around his own.

"Why are you holding my hand?"

"I like you hold everyone's hand. I hold my brother's hand when we go out together. I told you father's hand a lot as well."

"Why?"

"He doesn't like getting shots. You should see how he tenses up. So when Franz gives him an injection, I always hold his hand."

"How often does he get shots?"

"Once a week, at least. More if he's incredibly sick."

"…Two sick parents."

"What?"

"_Two sick parents._"

Ellis did not ask her counterpart to explain. Sols did not need to trample upon raw nerves. "…Mr. Braginski will get better. We've actually been giving him less medicine."

"What is he sick with anyway?"

"We honestly don't know…It's almost like he has a constant flu with a few terrible symptoms. Sometimes he vomits, sometimes his temperature rises. Sometimes he sleeps for days. Sometimes he has coughing fits. And sometimes, he seems completely normal. But he's doing better now. Especially the last few days."

The other did not respond.

"It's nice he's allowing you to stay with him."

"Did he send you after me? So I would feel guilty about hating him? _So I would come and visit?_ Well, you should know I'm only staying for my brother. Dmitri wanted to live in that ridiculous mansion and I'm not going to leave him, nor am I going to force him into poverty."

"I wasn't sent to do anything. I just wanted someone to be around and you looked like you needed to get out of that house…I'm sorry you hate Mr. Braginski, and I'm sorry you're so angry."

Andrei only sighed.

"I don't necessarily hate him. I'm just upset…" A pause, then reconsideration. "A lot had occurred that I feel could have been prevented. I shouldn't have met my father only a few days ago. That's not right."

"No. It's not." That hand was clutched slightly tighter. "But even so, I think Mr. Braginski wants to know you. He's very lonely. If anyone came up and said they were his relative, he'd take them in with no questions asked. I even saw him crying the other day…It's a very sad situation. But I'm glad you and your brother showed up. He even seems to be smiling more often."

A bit of sadness became embedded within the worker's chest. "What was your name again?"

"I'm Ellis Edelstein. What's yours?"

"Andrei."

"It's nice to meet you Andrei."

"It's nice to meet you too, Ellis."

They came to the bookstore only moments after their introduction.

Something inside that young man's crux had taken refuge in the mere thought of another caring. So often, his shoulders had been spit upon, his hands made to bleed, his core meant to desiccate, his soul coiled into itself. Andrei, for a brief happening, had forgotten what exactly kindness was. That compassion was not simply a dead thing made to laugh at his breaking marrow and battered hide.

A small amount of that soul had been stolen from the filthy hands of the abyss, and the petit creature that claimed that fragment back had earned respect from the one who hardly omitted veneration.

Ellis went home with a book and Andrei went home with a stomach no longer sickened.


	7. Chapter 7

They sat in that room, Dmitri with a hefty novel upon his lap and phrase upon his tongue, reading with a perpetual sort of pace. The son no longer thought of the words draining from his lips. No; those gazes were not upon the page. They were elsewhere.

And Ivan had placed his thoughts away from that novel as well, far from those trivial characters and continents from their plight.

Within that odd realm, Dmitri's wells began to overflow, a few of those poignant droplets landed against the neatly printed Cyrillic upon the page, marring it, destroying it, although there was nothing there to tarnish.

"Dmitri, you can stop reading. I'm not paying attention anymore."

The book was closed.

"What's wrong?" Ivan's lips seemed to dent slightly.

"Nothing, really…" Sapphires swallowed the light of the window. "I just wish things weren't the way they were."

"Well, how so?"

"I just wish I could have met you sooner. And that mama was still here. The poor woman went through hell. And we tried so hard to save her." Dmitri shook his head. "We worked the entire day. Both of us. And they gave us hardly enough for food. For blankets, and doctors. Forget doctors. They turned us away when they found out we had nothing. And somehow, I feel like it's still my fault." Tears wiped away. "It's so wrong. I should be angrier, but Andrei took all my anger and I took all his feeling."

"I'm sorry, Dmitri." The man glanced to the ceiling, trying to see the sky. "Let's get out of this room. It's suffocating, isn't it?"

"We could open the window."

"No…The cold isn't good for my condition." That great body attempted to rise. "Let's go to the library. I haven't got to show it to you. And I hate this goddamn place. Will you hand me that cane?"

Dmitri took that luscious pole form the well, its handle melded in gold and the shaft something of ivory. A pang of disgust at holding such a thing. If the man had elected an oaken staff, so much would have been saved. A family would have been fed. A mother saved.

So Ivan rose from those sheets, managing to move toward the door with the hindered steps. The good son followed.

They traveled throughout those corridors, those ancient paintings of so many cracking years within the sun's harsh rays, the gold glistening, the old man faltering. The youth's heart collapsing. The prodigal mansion turning to a prison. The library before their feet.

The doors were pushed open and either drifted inside.

Poor Dmitri's core screamed.

It was beautiful.

Books lined that grand room, two stories holding a million different tales. There were beaten books, there were new books; there were books from years and years ago; there were books made just yesterday.; there were books about men; there were books about women; there were books about love; there were books about hate; there were books about crime and punishment; there were books about war and peace; there were books about women named Anna; there were books about women who were not named Anna. There were books. Books upon books upon books.

One could not count them all.

A heavy palm settled against Dmitri's shoulder. "You can read any of them. Don't worry about asking. It's yours."

Those lips were made deficient.

"Спасибо."

"Of course."

"Have you read all of these yet?"

"Most of them. That shelf there is all the ones I haven't read. Do you like books? I know your mother made you read them, but do you like them?"

"I love them! Whenever we had holidays, Andrei would always get me a book stolen from the library. Mama would twist his ears around for stealing, but I always felt grateful."

Ivan laughed. "Well, no one has to steal from libraries anymore." The hold was removed. "Dmitri, when is your birthday?"

"Oh…June third."

"Hmm."

The polite young man only smiled.

And how old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"You're so young…" There was a silence.

"I don't feel very young, sir. Sometimes I wake up feeling sixty."

Then a saddened smile. "I wake up feeling sixty every morning. We must be the same age." Ivan came to the shelves upon the bottom floor. "Please feel free to look around."

And for some reason, there was guilt that seared as strong acid. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You don't have a reason to be."

"I don't really know why. But I'm sorry." Sorrow still possessed the throat of that twenty-two year old, born on June third. "Are you upset with me?"

"No, no…I'm not upset. I'm only upset with myself."

Before that statement could be inquired about, the door swung wide and that nurse walked in, a novel the density of a brick within her arm, cradled as a child.

She stared at them.

"What's all this scandal?"

A sigh from Ivan's mouth. "Well you caught me. I would run, but I wouldn't get very far. Are you going to take me away now?"

"No…But if I was Franz I would. How are you feeling, Mr. Braginski?"

"I'm just fine. Dmitri can even testify for me. Don't I just look wonderful? Like I could pick up an entire ox."

Ellis laughed. "Of course. And I can pull a train with a piece of yarn and my teeth." Her simper lingered a lasting count. "I'm sorry to ruin everything, but Dr. Edelstein wants to give you that medicine. It's great to see that you're up and about, but I have to take you back. At least for now. You can return as soon as we're finished. I promise."

"Alright then…I suppose I don't really have a choice in the matter, so I?"

"Not at the moment, no."

Dmitri's brows furrowed. "Why do you have to be in bed? Can't you have your medicine here?"

"The shots make me very tired. But the dosage had been lightening, so don't concern yourself."

There was only air against that coiling tongue.

"I'll return soon. You can remain here, if you like."

"Oh. Alright."

Dmitri was left with inquiry bearing upon his shoulder and an ache within his chest. Everything seemed to ebb at once, dejection, concern, those four chambers al cramping up and arteries tangling. But vindictive thoughts were banished, the sick parents sent away, and that soul was bound in what all that literature had to say, throwing volumes the size of cylinder blocks at all his perpetual demons.


	8. Chapter 8

He left when the night engulfed the sky, the only light remaining being the stars and those brazen street lights. The rest of the atmosphere was drowned in ink and the ground reflected that void within the sleet. The scarlet cloak was held tightly about his flesh, the cigarette pressed between those lips so marred by the bitter air.

There was almost shame against those forced silks. The others were not meant to lay their eyes upon it, a man producing only sour eggs suddenly appearing with golden chicks. He hated the overcoat. He hated those shined leather boots. He hated the fresh tobacco in his mouth.

But Andrei's hands were still crimson, weren't they?

A brief corner was rounded.

Andrei came to that backroom, sitting amongst the others.

For a moment they all stared.

"Fashionably late."

"Shut up, Victor. How is your wife doing?"

"She's fine, thank you."

"Good." Andrei smoked as they studied him, the frog beneath the pins.

"Where did you get that coat, Andrei?"

"I stole it."

"You _stole_ it?"

"Да. I stole it. I stole the cigarettes too." That pack was placed upon that battered table. "Take some comrades. It's good tobacco."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

"What do you have beneath that overcoat?"

"A pistol. A deck of playing cards."

The men all shook their heads, smiling. "Poor little Andrei. Where is your brother?"

"At home. And I'm not little. I'm probably the tallest one in this room."

Laughter as those smokes were passed around. Laughter as they judged his beautiful stolen coat. Laughter because Andrei was so very young.

"What is he doing at home?"

"Learning to grow a beard?"

Mirth.

"Нет. He's sleeping. It was a long day at work…" Blond brows furrowed behind that veil of feathery bangs. "Who cares? Start the meeting."

So the meeting started.

Andrei's mind left the room the very beat those pertinent phrases began. His jaw settled within his scarlet palm, his eyes flickering about that shanty chamber, to all those dim embers peaking from the mouths of his comrades. His crux shot into that muddy abyss and a solemn sort of thought dominated his features. There were too many ideas within that skull, too much to ignite that red fire, too much to coil those mounds into a dissatisfied mold. Too much to cause that thin stomach to writhe. They all remained there, his father, his mother, Dmitri, and for some reason, that enchanting Austrian- Hungarian, clinging to the folds of his brain as cob webs in a corner.

And the others spoke and spoke and spoke. Syllables crunching to ash and meaning grinding to dust. It did not matter. What they were expressing had all been expressed before. Expressed a thousand times over, expressed until there were no new means of expressing it. They cursed the tsar; they made their propaganda; they produced their secret messages.

Andrei had seen it play out. The same performance on the same stage and the same night every week all year long. Until they rotted in the factories, were oppressed and shot, died of old age waiting.

"Are you alright, Andrei?"

"…No." Blue crystals shifted. "When are we going to do something? Blow something up? Shoot someone? Kill the tsar?"

They all glanced to one another.

"We talk every week. We just speak until our ears bleed. But those bastards are still whipping us like swine and dying the snow red with our blood. A point needs to be made. Before their heels grind our bone to powder."

A pause. "Andrei, how is your mother?"

"She died." The entity rose from his chair. "And they killed her."

Then, the crimson phantom dissipated, a mist clothed within a taken cloak. The cigarettes were abandoned, and all those hearts sunk to the men's feet.


	9. Chapter 9

"Come talk with your father."

Ellis took a bite of that odd pastry, cupped within those dainty hands. With her mouth full, she spoke.

"Just for a little while."

"You're strange, Ellis."

"I know." A swallow. "Do you want some? I made it."

"Do I have to eat out of your hands? What is that anyway?"

"_Apfelstrudel._ My mother would make it for my father and I would help. Eventually, I just knew how to bake it myself." Another bite. "I'll get you a plate. Unless you _want_ to eat from my hands. I have more strudel than this." A swallow and another pallet of warm desert.

"Let me try some of that first. I have to decide if I like it."

Ellis came to Andrei's flank and held out that make shift bowl, red ringers capturing a small amount of that unknown element and sampled it, confection melting upon Andrei's buds.

"You said you made this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I want a plate. Or you can just drop a few spoon fulls into my hands. I don't really care."

"Alright. I will if you go speak with your father."

"That's not fair."

"I know it's not, but you need to spend some time with him. You are staying in his home." Andrei stole another nibble. "That's not necessarily fair either. And I know he wants to talk with you. I can see it in his face."

There was enough strudel to store in one hand, and all that sweet mass was kept in Ellis' left palm, while Andrei stole the right, licking at those demure digits.

The young woman laughed.

"You're lucky I don't smack you."

The ring finger fell between those lips, and was drawn upon lightly, all while Ellis took a mouth full of strudel from the occupied hand. Andrei's mouth came to lower section of that finger, that large thumb rubbing her wrist softly, in a sort of admiration. He did not know what exactly had possessed him. But there was not a true concern. Ellis did not seem to mind. She simply allowed it, taking strudel between those teeth.

He lapped at her palm, and then that nymph was released.

"Do you want to clean the other one?"

"No thank you, miss. I'm just fine."

"Are you sure?" A grin.

"Yes, Ellis. I'm sure."

"Alright, well…Go talk to you father. I'll bring you some strudel." The Austrian girl left the room, cheeks somewhat pink and fled to the kitchen, to fetch sweet for the one who daringly stole her hand.

And Andrei came to his father's chamber, sitting upon the singular chair that his sibling typically assumed. An introduction was not made. But Ivan opened those sights.

"Hello, Dmitri."

"_I'm Andrei._"

"Oh…I'm sorry. It's still difficult for me to tell you apart."

There was hardly an answer beside a weighty breath.

"Do you need anything? How was work today?"

"It was long…And no. I don't need anything. Ellis made me come and talk with you. She's going to feed me some strudel."

"I suppose you don't want to speak with me."

"No. Not necessarily."

"Well…I don't blame you." Then, the atmosphere withered, the man becoming something distraught. "I truly wish I would have known. This sounds odd, but…I'm proud of you. You and your brother are good young men. I don't know either of you very well, but I know you're good. You're upset. You have a right to be. But you're still good. And however late our relationship is, I'm overjoyed to meet you. So thank you for coming to talk to me, even though Ellis bribed you with strudel."

Andrei did not have sound within his throat.

"Do you hate me Andrei?"

"No. I don't hate you. I can't hate you when you say things like that. I'm still angry. And I hate a lot of people. But I don't hate you." A pause. "I think it's wrong to fuck anyone and leave them. I'm still pissed about that. But you at least wanted to take responsibility. I know you could have thrown us outside. Called us liars and had us arrested if you wanted to. It's hard to find kindness form anyone anymore. So I appreciate your generosity." Brows furrowed. "But it's going to be a while before I can forgive. I'm not ready to say it's alright."

"I understand…" A few tears rolled upon those exasperated cheeks. "I'm sorry, Andrei."

The son rose and erased his father's sorrow, crux seeming to erode within that writhing stomach acid. He did not intend to make that man weep, nor did he think him as so sensitive.

"Please don't cry." There was not a cord within that neck. No coming sobs, no anger. Nothing; just paralysis. "You don't have to be upset because things got fucked up twenty-two years ago. Everyone does stupid things, don't they?" The sleeve devoured coming remorse.

The elder caught his son's wrist and managed to pull himself from those terrible sheets. Even within that great miasma of pulpy sentiment, Andrei helped that man, delivering him from the vacuum aiming to devour him.

And Ivan stood, engulfing his son within that large form. He was slightly denser than his offspring, and for the first time in so many years, the near perpetual tallest body in the room felt so very little.

Despite his father's illness, that anatomy was still well built. Ivan Braginski was thick, and he rose as a tower, just as those brothers. Here was a man who could fill an entire chamber by simply standing within it. His palms were enormous and heavy. They devoured everything they graced.

Andrei knew at that second, that this man was father. There was sudden connection. There was understanding. There was acidic malcontent sitting against his innards. It ached as the bloodied lesions from a harsh whip.

But still, the statue could not weep.

"I'm sorry, Andrei."

And Ellis arrived with her strudel; two plates for either man, simpering, a light beaming form her eyes.

It was her fault.

Well. At least partially.

Those pretty white plates were left in the night stand, and that mischievous creature fled, aware it was not her moment. Even if she had been a catalyst. But that was not pertinent.

Ellis was happy, and Ivan was happy, even though tangible emotion welded against those snow white cheeks. And Andrei was happy. He did not know he was happy; he was unsure of what that tangled ball of wire was. That sphere overtaking his entire center. But there was happiness. Somewhere amongst all those stark ribbons, it was there, a flame within the well, but it was there.

And temporarily, those fragments came together and those chips and dents were slowly worked away.


	10. Chapter 10

That hard-covered odyssey was dropped as brick against the twin's bedspread. It did not have a title; it was beaten and hackneyed, read over a thousand times until the paper yellowed. It was beautiful.

"What is this, Andrei?"

"It's a book."

"Why did you bring me this?"

"Because I love you. You're my brother."

"We don't have to steal things any longer. Have you seen our father's library?"

"No." The elder sat next to the bare younger. "Why didn't you come to the meeting, Dmitri? You never told me the reason."

"I was exhausted."

"Well, we didn't do much of anything anyway." Andrei laced those fingers about his thighs. "Those assholes gave me a hard time for having a nice coat. I knew I shouldn't have accepted it."

"Don't say that. I'm sure most anyone would take it. You needed another one. I was beginning to worry you would get frost bite or something."

"You needed a new coat more than I did."

Dmitri simply gave a soft glance to his sibling, lips curling in a kind of sweetness. "You're a good brother, Andrei."

"You're damn right." The smile, the same twist that seemed so wrong. Andrei only allowed odd grins, those lips always crooked; teeth always too bright.

"Are you feeling better? I haven't seen you smile like that for weeks."

"A little. I'm still off. How about you?"

"I'm…Healing. I haven't been sleeping well. It's odd to have my own room. And it's odd to have my own room without you in. It's too quiet without your snoring."

"Hey. If I snore, you have to snore too."

"Where's your proof?"

"We're identical twins."

"That's not proof."

"Yes it is. Look. We're the same."

"We're not the same. _Not exactly._"

"Sure we are, Dmitri. If I snore, you snore. If I live in a mansion, you live in a mansion. If I work in a soap factory, you work in a soap factory. We've got the same components all the way down to the veins."

"You're still the insane one."

"Да. I am the insane one. But that's alright."

"I like you better insane. If we were really the same, _I'd_ probably get us confused. Which one am I?"

"You're the nice one."

"I'm not nice."

"Shut up. You're the nice one. It's been predetermined. And if you don't believe me, I'll stab you." That nose touched to the brother's cheek. A whisper. "Because I'm insane."

Dmitri laughed. "What are you doing? You're so strange." A palm pushed the other away. "But I'm glad to see you strange. You're doing better when you act this way."

Again, joy positioned wrongly.

Then the comfortable silence.

"Dmitri, I think we should go visit our mother's grave."

"I'm not quite sure I'm ready for that."

"It doesn't matter if you're ready or not. We have to."

"I know we do, Andrei." Those brows drooped as exhausted flowers against summer heat. "But if I go back there, I'm going to cry until I throw up. And that shack…" Dmitri's lip was secured by uncertain teeth. "I never want to look at that place again as long as I live. If I could, I'd burn it to the ground. It was horrible there…"

"I know, Dmitri. But we need to go back sometime. And we actually have today off."

"Well, you can go. You're tougher than I am."

"I don't want to go alone."

"I'm sorry, Andrei."

The elder sibling fell against those thickened sheets, an exasperated sigh temporarily in his throat. "Alright, then. But you know how impatient I am."

"Thank you. If you like, you can bring someone else with you. But I can't go yet. I'm too heart-broken to see her again." Suddenly, the gentle brother carried that sorrow within his eyes.

And Andrei rose and embraced the other portion of his soul.

"It's alright. It's hard. I know."

Dmitri allowed steady breath from his lungs, a deluge of frustration coming with carbon dioxide "I wish it wasn't. It seems like every day is harder than the last. Accepting the whole truth is like trying to swallow a dagger. My mouth gets bloodied before I can even ingest the damn thing."

"You can always change reality, Dmitri. That way you never have to chop up your tongue."

"We can't bring her back."

"No. But we can improve our lives. Change is coming. I can feel it in my bones. Even the snow will be red."

"The snow was red beforehand. It's _been_ red. Everyone in Russia might as well have the plague; the workers anyway. They're dropping like flies."

"_We're_ dropping like flies."

"Yes. We are…We're lucky we found our father. We would have been next." Dented lines, as though the entire weight of all Russia's troubles were weighed upon Dmitri's brows. "I've been putting on weight."

"I've noticed."

"What about you?"

"No. Not really…I don't have enough time for eating."

"Andrei, don't starve yourself if you don't have to."

"I'm not starving…Actually, that Ellis girl fed me a few days ago."

"She did? What did she give you?"

"Apple strudel. Best desert I've ever eaten." For a moment, Andrei fumbled with his pocket, retrieving a cigarette and a match. That stick was put to flame, and the ember was allowed to the tobacco. A forest set to flame all in a domino effect.

"Do you really have to smoke in my room? You light the damn thing like you just finished having sex. How do you feel about her anyway?"

"I don't know yet…But from first impression I like her. She's bossy and persistent. Yet, somehow nice at the same time. It's hard to wrap your mind around her. I always feel like I'm missing something after she leaves. Like I read something wrong."

"You're going to fall in love with her." Dmitri stole a cigarette from that crimson palm. "I bet your babies will be cute. Hopefully they won't follow me around thinking that I'm you."

A smack to the chest. "I don't need babies. You'll get married before I do."

A laugh. "I probably will. But then again, I don't meet many girls. Do you think Ellis likes you?"

Andrei developed a flavor for that inquiry, recalling those few events divided between that strange German-speaking woman and himself. "Yes. I think so."

Tranquility.

"Why don't you let me show you to the library?"

"Certainly."

So the twins went to the library.

When Andrei laid his eyes all of books, those ancient pages bound in dust and knowledge, his crux burst with an inexplicable notion. How many books does man needs? However, the collection was still in magnificent condition. He wanted to read every single one of them, show those leaves to his mother and say, "Look! I read all of this! Aren't you proud?" He wanted to grant her such recorded intelligence and passion, but he could not.

Suddenly, conscious screamed. Andrei did not need to steal from the library.

He became sick.

"Isn't it amazing? I was in here a few days ago and there's everything upon those shelves."

"I don't doubt that."

"Go look…"

So that red handed worked allowed those stained pads to the spines of those fine novels, stroking their flesh with a kind of veneration. Prints affected the golden lettering, the broken backs, the gorgeous manila pages with sallow years, the words, the love, the music, the lives, the muses.

Then he collected a few of those tales within his arms, cradling them as though they could breath.

Then flowed the happiness, blood within his veins.

That once disjointed canvas holding only crimson illuminated.

And Dmitri held flame as well, happy that his brother was happy.

They spent the day together, sealing those lesions and allowing the past to finally be the past. If only momentarily.


	11. Chapter 11

She washed the bloodied scalpels. She sanitized her petit hands. She brushed the ebony hair behind her cold ears and she marched about the halls wearing that uniform in an unobtainable sort of pride; a pride only she could hold.

Franz was not at her side, having remained at the Braginski mansion, taking care of that sick man. Ellis was not needed that day, but there was undying compulsion to do his job; to help all those others within the city.

The little woman moved to each room with aid illumining her heart. She distributed the extra rubles within her pockets, for her form was well fed, and she was housed within that ornate mansion, and all she required was books, clothing, and music. The rest went to the hospital. Ellis's heart shattered as glass to gravity when eyes met the hungry men, the women with their lanky and gaunt children. There was far too much abundance already. And their poor faces burst in ornate joy. Because their families would be fed. Because for an entire night, their sons and daughters wouldn't need to starve. Because there had been a droplet of sympathy to a land drowning in disabuse.

It was not enough to grant true life.

But it was something.

Finally, there was _something._

"Ellis!"

"Yes?"

"Come here a moment. This woman needs stitches."

"Oh, Конечно."

And that Austrian-Hungarian went to work.

The area was cleaned. The black thread was put through the needle, and the wound was closed.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt too much?"

"No, no…It's alright." The woman closed her eyes. "I've had worse; truly. It just kept bleeding." Her filmy blue marble eyes rotated to the one focused upon her arm. "It must be difficult, working here. I'm sure we all keep you busy."

"Well. I prefer to be busy. There's too many bad thoughts in this place. The work keeps them at bay." Ellis noticed a pregnant mound against the patient's stomach. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"I fell in the streets and landed on a broken vodka bottle." Lips reacted when the needle sewed the gaping flesh together. "I picked all the fragments out and came to the hospital as soon as I could."

"Were you coming home from work?"

"Yes. I'm a maid at one of larger mansions." A hand settled upon her abdomen. "I can keep working, can't I?"

"Oh. Of course. This is nothing. Just be careful with this area. Although, tearing these stitches would probably take a lot of effort." The thread was cut. "It's good you caught this coming home. I know many people get fired for showing up late. I'm fortunate the man I work for is lenient."

"You are lucky. But if you're employed somewhere else, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I wasn't needed, so I come. This hospital is short on staff, usually. Being a nurse is all about helping others. What sort of nurse would I be is I only served one person?" There was a smile against those dainty lips. "I always feel guilty, doing nothing."

"Are you married?"

"Oh, no…" A simper.

"Well, when you do get married, you won't feel guilty doing nothing anymore. I promise you. I have a little one already and he's quite a bit of work. I love him to death, but what I wouldn't give to relax." The patient's head rested against that tattered pillow. "Well, why aren't you wed yet? I'm sure many young men admire you."

"I'm not quite sure. I simply didn't go along that path. It's not like I mind. I prefer helping others…It's hard to have a family. I don't know if I'm cut out for the job."

"If you can save lives you can be a wife."

There were not words within Ellis' throat.

"You're too pretty to be cooped up in here."

"Don't worry about me…Here." That hand pulled currency from that pocket. "Go buy yourself some free time. You deserve to do nothing for a while." Curling lips. "You can leave, if you like. You arm is going to be fine. Come back when it's healed up. We'll get the stitches out."

"…Thank you. But I can't accept this. You've worked hard for it."

"Yes. But I'm paid much more than I need. I'll live without this. Please. Give your little son something nice."

"Спасибо."

The young woman returned to her duty, bliss made to sit upon the palm of the destitute. She pulled her patients from starvation, she saved their children, if only for an evening, and she bandaged their lesions.

It was sad. But Ellis was happy. A goddess planting flowers within empty grass. Those digits grew haggard, those knees became weak. But she was happy. Bags developed beneath her eyes. Her crux grew soft and hard as diamond all at the same time. But she was happy. Ellis was taken from her pedestal. She was cast into the working class, amongst the women who were tough as nails. And still, she was happy.

Ellis slept well that night, conscious clean all accept for that meager fragment. That fragment named Andrei Braginski.

Something within that heart told her to speak to him. She would capture him upon his next day off.

When that plan was acknowledged, the muse was able to rest.


	12. Chapter 12

She caught his hand.

"Hello, Ellis."

"Hello Andrei."

His fingers squeezed around her palm, small and pearly as porcelain. It was a trinket. Andrei was weary of dying it red.

"How have you been?"

"I've been fine…" The Austrian-Hungarian girl cast her green eyes to her companion. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright." It was again, one of those glorious free days when Andrei's mind became so fraught with screaming weight; he needed to race around, as if though those moving legs would knock the trouble loose. But Ellis came to placate those voices, to pour salt about the snails crawling upon his backside, leaving thick rails built of acid and residue.

It drove him mad.

"Just alright?"

"Just alright. I've never really been _good._"

"Well, why is that?"

"My life has been hard."

"I see." Another comforting palm ran to that mess of fingers and skin. "Mine too."

The boy with dirtied Russian blood did not ask why.

"Listen. Why don't you come with me to the hospital?"

"The hospital? Why?"

"That's where I go when I'm not here or at the book store. They're so short on staff that they'd take any volunteer. No questions asked. Especially when Nurse Ellis brings them in."

"I have a feeling I don't get a choice."

"No…Well. You could say no. But then I'd simply hurt you, so you'd go to the hospital anyway. If you want to spend time with me the hard way, that's how we're going to do it. Hell, Andrei. I'll even let you pick. Do you want me to cut you or push you down a flight of stairs?"

"Hmm…"

"I'd got for the stairs. You could get a good roll going. You look pretty top heavy."

"If I'm pushed down a flight of stairs, I'll ensure that you come with me."

"That might be better. I need some rest anyway. What better excuse could there be? If I'm hurt they won't call me lazy."

A little grin broke against Andrei's mouth.

And Ellis beamed. "So how about it? The walls can't listen to your thoughts forever."

"I'll go."

"Good." A toothy smile that infected even the atmosphere around that pretty muse. "Good."

So Andrei and his company left that mansion, all those malcontent ideas sitting amongst the golden vases and the ancient portraits of Ivan Braginski. The remained amongst all the poor maids and the butlers and the other variety of servants, who could not wash them from the paint no matter how they tried.

But as soon as those haggard thoughts were pushed from that mind, a new set came. Andrei worried about his brother. He wondered about his mother's poor spirit. He considered himself. He analyzed the one at his flank.

"You think too much."

"You talk too much."

"I know. But you're too quiet. It clicks together, doesn't it?"

"If you knew me better you wouldn't think I was quiet."

"Maybe not. So tell me about yourself."

"There's too much to say."

"The start somewhere easy."

"I was born June third."

"Me too."

Andrei stopped walking. "Don't lie to me."

Laughter. "No. You're right. I was born September fifth. But what else do you have to say for yourself? What is it like to have a twin brother? You're the older one, aren't you?"

"Yes, but only by a few minutes." Those azure wells confronted the snow clouds. "It's strange…Dmitri and I have this connection. We're extremely close. You can't have one of us without the other. Where I'm stupid, he's smart. Where he's weak, I'm strong. We're a team. We need one another or else everything seems off."

"I see."

"How old are you?" The subject shifted.

"Twenty-three."

"I'm twenty-two."

"Really? I thought you were only eighteen or nineteen. Hmm…That makes you less of a baby than I thought you were."

Andrei's brows knitted. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Ooh. You never told me you had a potty mouth. Luckily, you won't have to go all too far to wash it out. You _do _work at a soap factory."

"Tell me what you meant."

"You have a baby face."

"_Baby face?_ I don't have a _baby face._"

"Yes you do. You're cute…" Plump mounds foiled at their edges. "It's not a bad thing. You'll look young until the day you die." Ellis squeezed her counterpart's hand. "Please don't be mad at me."

A breath of air rose from the tall one's lungs. "I'm not mad at you."

A silence.

"Well, what do you like to do, Andrei?"

"Sleep."

"That's all?"

"I like sex too."

Ellis laughed. "What else?"

"Reading. That's just about it…"

"Don't you like eating?"

"When the food is good. But in my case, it's usually not."

"Why do you say such sad things?" The petit thing messaged the other's appendage as though it was something in desperate need of warmth.

"Because it's true." A calmness. "What is it like? To be somewhere completely different? You're form Austria-Hungary, aren't you?"

"Да. All the way from Vienna." The young woman thought. "It's hard sometimes. But I have a lot to show for what I sacrificed. I'm proud to be a nurse at my brother's side, and I'm proud to say that I've saved a few lives. At least a few. And I'm proud that I can speak more than one language, even if I do have an accent."

"Your accent is cute."

"Thank you…" A thought. "There are times when I truly want to go home. But I can't. I wouldn't have a clean conscious if I left Mr. Braginski alone. I would give anything to see him better."

"How can you care so much about others?"

"It's simple. I just do…Don't you feel a sadness when you see these hardworking people starve and die of diseases they could have avoided if only they had better resources? It's terrible. Most of them can't even get clean water."

"They have to eat the snow."

"Yes."

"Ellis, there is nothing sadder than that. Nothing in Russia-in the entire world- is sadder than a hard working man starving to death…I suppose I care about them in another way. Russia needs to change and it needs to change _now._"

Ellis only nodded, knowing any point made would drag her in far too deep. And then she would never get out. A Bolshevik or an aristocrat; either was a step too extreme.

They arrived at the hospital.

The smell of death raided Andrei's lungs.

"So what so you want me to do?"

"Help me."

"Do what you say?" Andrei held the door open for his companion. "That's what it boils down to, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes. But if you'd prefer to simply sit around and do nothing, then you can do that. Or you can be my slave for an hour or two. But I'll be kind."

"I suppose I'll be your slave then."

"Good. I need all the help I can get."

A silence as they traveled deeper into the graveyard.

"Ellis, do you get paid to do this?"

"No…I would be, but I don't need any more money. This work is filthy when it doesn't come from the heart. Everyone has an income, but I already have mine. I can't take from a place that has nothing to give. I don't stay all too long either; I come when I can. And I help how I can. I do whatever I can." They turned a corner. "I'm too random to be given a definite salary anyway. If I was an employee, they'd fire me."

Andrei laughed. "Well, you're doing a good service."

"Thank you."

The pair set to work.

The red handed twin watched as Ellis did her job, when he could. Those limbs, once so lovely and delicate, became unstoppable. The sweet creature tore through that hospital, healed her patients, and threw duty into Andrei's defenseless and naked hands.

He cleansed scalpels; he collected gauze; he threw away the used casts; he brought her syringes when she required them; he even offered her a glass of water. She took a sip and went back to donning neat stitches into a worker's leg.

It was exhausting.

Andrei developed an immediate appreciate for that lovely little Austrian-Hungarian woman, the one months older than himself. It was then the young man realized that he and Ellis would likely become good friends. Or perhaps he decided it. Andrei was a soul who could be anyone's greatest ally. But only if he chose to do so. And there was a liking for that Ellis, that nurse who gave so many hours to others.

And as he drifted into the world of the sick, the workers, the men and women who composed that towering city, his elbow was caught and that current broke into another.

Then, they were outside.

"I needed a break." Ellis dipped her hand nonchalantly into her counterpart's pocket and tore away a packet of cigarettes and a book of matches, gaining protest from shifting lips. "I knew you'd have these. Good thing they were in that pocket too." A roll of tobacco was stolen from the container and set to ember. The carton was returned. "Thank you."

"Thank you for asking."

Then came the peace.

"…How are you doing Ellis?"

"I'm fine." Smoke drifted from those supple mounds, dyed such a brilliant rose. "Have I been working you too hard?"

"No. I only know how to work hard."

"…You're a good man, Andrei. I don't know how often you hear that, but it's true. You're good." A drag.

"Thank you. You're a good woman. I'm glad you brought me here."

"I'm glad you let me."

Tranquility.

"Come here for a minute, Andrei." Ellis held her tobacco in those delicate phalanges; she faced her counterpart. "I need to tell you a secret. Come down here."

So Andrei leaned forward, to the little woman's level, and as though the dragon fly had just landed within the window's nest, the huntress struck.

Their lips pressed together. Smooth flesh combining and causing fire to infest blood, as the plague, as cholera, as sweet anxiety that birthed adrenaline. They held for a while, their remained, sampling one another.

They lingered.

"Hmm." Andrei could feel her smile. "I thought so." A quick touch and that tornado was off, stirring up another part of the world.

The partial Russian finished his cigarette.


	13. Chapter 13

The sick man was asleep when Dmitri made his appearance, a book within his arms, and an odd look about his eyes. His father was out cold, a cotton ball taped upon his arm with that sleeve rolled up to his shoulder and those lips sagging in an unconscious stupidity.

Ivan looked peaceful, nearly harmless. Despite that kindly nature, there was something offsetting about him. A soul that could not be given clean trust until years after a first meeting. Perhaps it was because his structure was entirely too large. Even hunched over with a cane, he towered over everyone, a fortress threatening to collapse.

And Dmitri knew. He was built with the same iron.

So, the offspring sat with his novel, plopping into the chair that had been left day after day. It was pointless to move that seat. Everyone morning, Dmitri came and ate breakfast with his senior, growing nearer and nearer with every word shared.

He liked his father. Dmitri did not love Ivan. But he certainly liked him. There was much they had in common, all stemming from their nature and features and bare interests. They loved books and stories and speaking and listening. They loved sweets and vodka.

Ivan always seemed better when the younger made his cameo.

Finally, the man woke up, hazy, as though he had been shot with a tranquilizer.

"Is that you, Dmitri?" He blinked as though sight had evaporated.

"Yes. I came to have breakfast with you."

"Oh…Were you waiting a long time?"

"No. I just got here, actually. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine." The sick one sat up and pulled the cotton from his vein, allowing that sleeve down. Dmitri saw that flesh only a moment, that blackened area bruised and haggard. Ivan Braginski had been pricked so many times, that skin was no longer healthy. It became wrinkled, wrinkled and scarred and black.

Gazes spoke.

"They're going for my legs next…You don't have to look so horrified. It doesn't hurt anymore. But I still can't watch."

Dmitri could not even produce coherent thought.

Lips coiled.

"You're nice boy, Dmitri. What are you doing with 'Les Misérables'?"

"Oh. I noticed you had it French. Can you understand all of this?"

"Let me see it a moment."

The novel was handed over.

They were silent a few moments as the ancient binding was broken.

"Ah…I'm rusty."

"Can you speak French?"

"_Un peu. _But I haven't practiced in quite a while. I'm surprised I can still read all of this nonsense."

"Was it hard? Learning a different alphabet?"

"Well, yes. But it doesn't take all too long to get the hang of. However, French is a difficult language." A smile. "I forgot most all of this. All accept the basics. That's alright. I hate the French anyway." The book was allotted to its rest.

"Do you know any other languages?" Ivan inquired with kind eyes.

"No. I never had the chance the chance to learn any."

"Well, do you want to? I can hire a tutor."

Dmitri bled mirth. "What use would I have for that?"

"I don't know. I thought you might enjoy it."

"I'm sorry. But I've never even been to school. You don't have to waste your money."

"I don't believe that. You're too sharp."

"Well…I learned a lot from my mother, who went through rigorous schooling. I'd probably be a lot stupider had it not been for her." That solemn expression washed about his visage, always returning when Natasha reared her head. She was a wave, leaving, coming back, leaving, coming back, washing away the pock marks left those indignant shoes. The woman would never go away.

"I'm too old now…"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am."

Tranquility.

"You're allowed to change your mind, Dmitri. Just tell me if you do."

Nothing.

"The world is a terrible place, isn't it?"

"Yes it is. But no matter what happens, everything turns out alright."

Then there was harsh joy. "You haven't spent much time in the streets, have you? I've seen people die because they can't even get _water._ Does that sound alright to you? Does it sound alright that I worked my ass off to save my mother and no matter what we did she died in the end anyway? Does it sound alright that the doctor turned us away because we didn't have enough _money?_" Tears. "I guess everything turns out alright when you can buy a happy ending, doesn't it?"

Ivan's throat desiccated.

"I'm sorry..." Dmitri wiped his eyes. "I didn't mean to be harsh. I just can't tell you how untrue that is."

"No. That's not right…May I ask you something?"

"Yes, you can."

"Why are you still working if you don't have to? You can rest now. No one will look down on you."

"Everyone will look down on me. But I work because I need to buy a decent grave for my mother. We dug a hole and used an old cutting board for a headstone. Maybe they won't even re-do it for us. I don't know…But it's good to work."

"I'll take care of that."

"No. It's something my brother and I need to do. And don't go and ask Andrei. He'll just yell at you." Palms devoured that sorrow. "Are you ashamed of us? Because we work?"

"No…I'm not ashamed of either of you. I'm proud to say that I have sons. And I'm proud to say that my sons are responsible young men. I was more ashamed of my lonesomeness, that there was no one left to come and visit. It's been so long…For the last several years; my closest friends have been my doctors. And it was unbearable to speak to them as my family when all I could see was the hopelessness in their eyes. 'That poor old man. He'll be lucky if he made it to tomorrow. And look. There's no one here to watch him die. No one to bury him and put a few flowers on his grave. And after either of you had come-after the news had sunk in- I was ecstatic. My heart swelled with happiness when I thought of having a family- even a _fragment_ of a family. Even if they hated me. Even if they couldn't forgive me. Even if they didn't want to be around me. I was still happy. Because I _had_ someone. And I would do anything in the world to make it up to you and your brother. Anything…Because you are priceless to me. I know it's only been a few weeks, but it's true. I would have sacrificed all I had for relatives. And for sons-" The man shook his head. "I would have bled for sons. I can't even count the hours I spent praying, _praying_ that someone would arrive even though logic told me it was stupid to request such things. Not even God can make a family from dust. No one could come. No one would be there for me…But then you did and I didn't find just one son, but two…My face was in my hands that night; I couldn't stop saying 'thank you.'"

A pause and sentiment moved from those sapphire fraught widows.

"Money can't buy you a happy ending. I haven't been happy for the last decade. But I'm happy now. It doesn't matter that I'm sick in bed- that I haven't been outside since last Christmas. Finally, one of prayers was answered. I feel like the most fortunate man on earth."

Dmitri's face burrowed into his palms, those lashes squeezing together. There was not sound. Only fervent upset.

"I'm sorry about the harsh things I said…" The message was forced. "I had no idea-"

"No it's alright, Dmitri. You've got every right to be angry."

"No; I don't. You didn't deserve that. You were trying to help. I-" Choke. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

The elder man did not speak. Not at first.

"…Do me a favor, Dmitri." A droplet removed by that heavy thumb. "Bring me a few bars of soap. I want to see your work."

"I will…"

And for the first time, perhaps within those twenty-two years, Dmitri felt as though he had been blessed. One needed a son and the other, a father. And they had one another. Golden eggs had been lowered into destitute palms.

A few of those wounds sealed.

An inkling of bliss was crafted.

Dmitri went to work with his heart inside his chest, where it belonged.


	14. Chapter 14

The grenade sunk into his palm.

It weighed more than he did.

Their voices echoed in his mind.

'Blow up his carriage. Drop it and run. Take cover. Just get the hell out of the way.'

'Why?'

'He owns a company and mistreats his workers.' It was put simply.

'What if he's not inside it?'

'Then it's a warning.'

'And if he is?'

'Then he's no longer a problem.'

That was all he was told. That was all. And he didn't question that order. Not even for a moment.

The pin was removed. He was close.

Ten seconds.

Seven seconds.

Five seconds.

Three.

Two.

One.

Toss.

Run.

Andrei went fast.

And then tripped upon that slippery black ice.

"Fuck!"

His long body hit the ground hard.

He could not even stand before the glass was flying toward him. Andrei had gotten onto his back and threw those arms before his visage as the shattered windows flew towards him as enraged bullets. The edges bit at his flesh, those red sleeves having been rolled up and skin well exposed.

The blood rushed from those lacerations, first a trickle, then a slow flood. Crimson overtook that snow white hide as though it was wine spilled upon a pearly table cloth.

The overcoat was removed and the wearer progressed from that area as quickly as was allowed. That fine scarlet fabric had been wrapped around the wounds, and the rat made his way through the streets of St. Petersburg, scurrying about the frost and hiding in the niche his father had allowed him.

His heart pulsed within his breast, beating against those thin ribs and threatening to explode inside that cavity. How could he trip? How could those long legs be so utterly stupid?

They worked now.

And somehow, they brought him home with no one paying too much attention to the young man running inside those allies and across those voided streets.

He came through the front door, that pretty red coat devouring the blood leaving those panicking veins. Andrei crashed through the dining room, the hallways, even the library in an instant of confusion. And there, he found Ellis, who was sitting within a leather chair and reading a novel.

"Andrei!" She was startled. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." He kept moving.

"No! Stop! Why are your arms in your coat that way?"

"I got in a fight."

"What?"

"_I got in a fight._"

"With who?"

"The ground."

"Andrei, stop!" The foreign woman caught his elbow. "Listen, I'll help you. I've got bandages and gauze in my room. I can get the blood from your coat as well…Please."

He stared. Tick tock. Tick tock.

"Come on."

The young man relaxed; they moved to the Austrian-Hungarian's chamber, back through those hallways, past all the ornate vases and each of those lovely ornaments. The door opened. Ellis' world was revealed to the hot blooded soul.

"Lie down on the bed. Keep pressure on your wounds. Are you going to pass out?"

"I've lost more blood than this without passing out."

"Good. Wait here. I need to clean your arms."

So Andrei sat against that light purple bed spread, encroaching upon those pink pillows lined in demure white lace and sank his gaze into those walls, painted in a royal magenta. Her desk had books stacked upon it, some focused upon medicine and some simple stories, a title or two standing out in German lettering. It was very neat. Even the novels towering one upon the other were neat. Even the pillows strewn about the bed were neat. All of the items within that space were neat.

His eye caught a photograph upon the wall, framed in a handsome border. In black and white were a man and woman standing next to one another, the woman with gorgeous and lengthily tresses and the man with a serious face and eyes covered by stoic spectacles. They looked pleasant amongst one another, as though their souls were utterly comfortable side by side. They matched, in their splendid garments and their happiness. That man even had a smile sketched upon his lips and an arm wrapped around his counterpart, his darling wife.

The door opened and the resident returned, a bowl of fresh water within her hands. The fluid was set upon the foot of the bed and Ellis came to one of her upper drawers within that dresser, pulling away a kit filled with numerous products, gauze, thread, bandages, medical tape, all of it within that petit world of precaution.

"Please take your arms out…Put your overcoat on your lap and lay your arms over it, wrist up."

Done.

"Thank you. It looks like most of the bleeding has stopped already." Those sleeves were rolled up a little bit more, so the nurse could see all the damage that had been done.

The cloth contained within the water was rung out and immediately, it licked the dirt and blood from those lesions, the one in question biting down upon his lips and screwing those eyes shut.

"I know it hurts…But it will better when it's all cleaned up. What happened to you anyway? How did you end up fighting the ground?"

"I fell."

"How?"

"I slipped."

"Why?"

"I was running."

"From what?"

Silence.

Ellis lapped at that sticky red syrup.

"Sometimes a Bolshevik or two come in with similar injuries, like they got caught up in an explosion. Always at night. Always…Would you know anything about that, Andrei?"

"Нет."

"Don't you lie to me. What did you destroy?'

"Are you going to report me?"

"No…It's none of my business. I have nothing to prove."

"I don't trust you."

"You should. I'm your only friend. Tell me what you blew up. I won't report you. I could care less."

"…A carriage."

"Why? Did you use a grenade?"

"Да. I did. And I did it because they told me to."

"And you slipped. Then the shattering glass got you."

"That's right."

"I see."

"…Ellis, please don't tell anyone. It's a noble cause. Worlds are born from destruction and ours in no different. Things need to change. Hard working people are starving and dying of avoidable diseases. Someone needs to fix things. And _damn it._ I can't sit back and watch. If you turn me in, you'll do no good. There's another to take my place-"

"Shut up, Andrei. I'm not going to turn you in. Believe me I see it every time I go outside, every time I enter the hospital. It breaks my heart. Today, a woman gave birth, still wrapped in her rags because she was so afraid of freezing to death. And I knew she would take that child home to a shack and little to no food. I know. Believe me, I know." She shook her head. "I don't condone violence, but you're right. Someone has to do something. The working class has been tolerant long enough. I'd be one of them if I wasn't so fortunate. I don't have to earn my living in that run down hospital. Luckily, my brother and I were good enough at our jobs to be noticed, and we were able to remain here. Do you know how many people wanted my occupation? To be able to live in this house and take care of a single patient, none the less, the payment… They all jumped, and I got it. And do you know why?"

Silence.

"Because I knew the doctor they called. Franz told Mr. Braginski that I was the best nurse around and we went together like tea and cake." The box was opened and the needle and thread were claimed from its innards. "I'm a damn good nurse, but there are those that are better than I am in this field. They make less than I do too. Hell, the doctors in most hospitals make less than I do. And I know they work harder." Brows furrowed. "They should be given so much more."

The needle sank into Andrei's arm and a great spasm traveled through his marrow, threatening to kick the water from the bed.

"Shh… It's alright. Just a few more stitches. That's all."

"Mmm." Andrei shrunk in pain.

"Come on, you're a tough guy. This is nothing."

Those lips did not unfurl to speak.

That minute was terribly long.

Then the thread was cut.

"…Anyway, I'm not going to get you into any trouble. But you need to be careful, Andrei. There are quite a few people who would. And they're everywhere." The bandages were next. "Now, all these little cuts are almost done. You took care of the bleeding when you had your coat wrapped around them. Luckily, the only one I needed to stitch up was this one." Her delicate finger pointed to those loud black knots. "You should stay here for a little while, so they can really develop scabs. Some aren't deep enough for stitches, but are still going to bleed for a while, a few minutes, I mean. So I'm going to bandage you up and I want you to relax."

"Alright. Thank you, Ellis. And thank you for-"

"Keeping your secret?" A smile. "Don't you worry about that. I like you. Too much to have you arrested, anyway."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes, I do." The extra layer came upon that right appendage, applied with a kind of love not found in a typical nurse. Andrei's core beat faster than it did when he ran; it was another kind of panic.

"Ellis, why did you kiss me?"

"Well…Your lips looked like they tasted good. It had been bothering me since I first saw you. And in all honesty, you're quite handsome." The next arm. "Why? Did I scare you away?"

"No…Were you angry that I licked your hand?"

A laugh. "Not angry; shocked, but not angry. It's an improvement, over all the bullshit I get at work."

"I'm sorry…"

"It's alright. I've gotten over it." Andrei's limb was eased back at his side. "You're done."

"…Have you kissed my brother?"

"No. only you. I can tell you apart, if you can believe that."

"How do you?"

"Well, there's these." Those crimson marred palms were held as little treasures. "And then there are your eyes. You've got a fire in your heart. It shows. Your brother is much calmer." Ellis moved those glassy emeralds to her own sweet grasps. "Dmitri is a lot like your father."

"I don't know much about Mr. Braginski."

"I know you don't. He told me the story, about either of you. I'm sure your mother is extremely proud of you."

"_Is?_"

"Yes. She had to exist somewhere. Just not here. Natasha is watching you, maybe even right now. I know that she loved you."

"How can you _know_ something like that? You never met my mother."

"Because, Andrei. Anyone in their right mind would be ecstatic to have a son like you. She must have loved you. She made you good." That overcoat was gently stolen away. "I'm going to wash this. I don't want the blood to stain it."

A strange tranquility as that nymph threatened to exit.

"Ellis, wait."

"Yes?" Those sympathetic emeralds glanced casually into the Bolshevik's soul.

"Listen, I want to be your friend. Let's spend time together on Sunday. You can decide what we do. But I have to repay you."

"You don't have to do anything."

"Yes I do."

A few painful seconds were dissolved in thought, consideration engulfing those minutes alive. "Alright. I'll go out with you. And you better buy me a book this time."

"Of course."

"Good. Rest for a while. I'll come back and tell you when you can run free." And that haunting thing disappeared; ran away with the communist's outer layer, leaving his crux to play those ribs. Just like drums.


	15. Chapter 15

"She kissed you?"

"Yes. She kissed me."

"What was that like?" A smile. "Goodness, Andrei. I'm used to hearing about how you kiss girls, not how girls kiss you. And what happened to your arms? I didn't get to ask you yet."

"I blew up a carriage and got cut by the glass."

"_What?_"

"You could have helped me. That's another meeting you've missed." Brows dipped. "Where have you been, Dmitri?"

"I'm sorry, Andrei. I haven't been myself since out mother passed. I don't feel much motivation to be a part of anything anymore. I just want to sleep."

"Why have you been talking to that man so much? I don't understand it."

"Which one? Our father?"

"Yes; _that one._ Who else?"

"Well…I don't know. I feel rude ignoring him. I mean, he lets us stay in his home. I can't pretend that he's not here. And he's not a bad man. We have a lot in common. You should really try and get to know him. At least we have a father. Even if he's late. So many children have no one at all."

"I think he's a bad influence."

"_Why?_"

"You're missing meetings and forgetting to ask about your brother's wounds. I feel like I haven't spoken to you in forever. Stop breaking my heart."

Dmitri laughed. "I couldn't break your heart is I had a mallet. Your skin is thicker than your bones."

Bliss. "You're right. But still, I'm worried about you. Don't forget who you are, Dmitri."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means."

"I _know_ who I am."

"Good. Now don't forget."

The younger sighed.

"Oh, shut up." Andrei cast a reprimand to his counterpart's arm. "Don't you start."

"I won't. Tell me about your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend. Ellis is just an insane nurse who runs around kissing people."

"She's pretty."

"Don't you _dare_ say that about her."

"Why? Because she's _yours?_"

"_No._"

"You're a liar."

"You can ask her yourself. We're friends. _Friends._"

"Of course you are, Andrei. Believe whatever makes you happy, I suppose…You're going to fall in love with her."

"Love is for morons."

"Everyone is a moron. That's why everyone falls in love."

"You haven't fallen in love."

"Well…I'm a pretty smart guy. But I will."

Andrei punched his brother.

"Ah-! Why is violence your solution to _everything?_"

"It works. Besides, sometimes I just need to punch you. It's like smoking a cigarette or eating. See, I need four things to live. Food, sleep, sex, and punching my brother."

"You forgot about snoring."

Another hit.

"Ow! _God damn it!_"

"Hit me back."

"No. Then we'll just end up fighting. And you'll kick my ass. That's always what happens. I don't like fighting with you."

A sort of guilt overthrew those aggressive blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Dmitri. I love you." The identical body fell into an embrace with his sibling.

"I love you too, you lunatic. You're lucky I even put up with you half the time…How do your arms feel?"

"They're alright. The stitches hurt. But I've had worse."

"Andrei, you really need to be more careful. What if someone saw you?"

"No one saw."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"Of course I do, Dmitri. I know everything. Don't worry. You leave that to me."

"Andrei, just promise me you'll be careful. _Please._ Just that. Just promise me that."

"I promise." A palm over took that crux. "I give you my word."

"Good. Thank you."

You're welcome."

The door opened softly.

It was that sweet fawn, Ellis.

"Hello. Am I interrupting you two?"

"No. Please come in."

So the young woman traveled further into that realm. "I came to tell you that I'm ready to go, if you'd like."

Andrei glanced to his sibling. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No. Go have fun. I wanted to read anyway."

"I'll see you later, Dmitri." A brief embrace and the elder was off with that captivating muse, their hands intertwining a sweetened minute.

Oh yes. He would fall for her. And he would fall hard.


	16. Chapter 16

That bow stretched against the strings as though trying to tug at them. From that sweet mahogany instrument sound and passion filled the air, exhilarating and loud enough to draw attention from every last direction. Her figure danced with sound, that music, that love, shoulders not bothered by the density of the violin or the crooked positions of her hands.

The whole chamber waltzed around Ellis, engulfing her notes into those thickly coated pours, those grand hues of the finest purple, and all her polished things. Her heart spit from her chest, and it fluttered about upon the wings birthed of music.

And so suddenly, it quit. Because the song had ended, and the phantoms no longer revolved in motion.

There was applause.

"That was good, Ellis."

"Oh, Franz. How long have you been sitting there? I didn't even notice you come in."

"Long enough. You're still very sharp. And you're happy." A smile befell those lips. The very same lips that the young woman exhibited on her face.

Either of them resembled their father. The midnight black hair, the skin pallid as snow, those little freckles one could see all about their flesh, their Austrian nature. But either held their mother's crisp eyes, those eyes the color of limes.

"You know, Franz. You've never acted like my younger brother. I swear. Sometimes I feel like you're the older one."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly." The instrument and its bow were set down upon the sheets, and the player took a spot at their proximity. "Is there something wrong? You don't come to my room this late unless there's something on your mind."

"Well, nothing. Mother and father sent us another letter. They're wondering how you are. Since you haven't written in so long…"

"I'm just fine. You know how it is, Franz. I'm busy. Your job almost seems easier than mine."

"No one asked you to volunteer."

"My heart did. You know how loud it is." A slight grin. "You should see those poor people, Franz. It's so sad, how kind some of them are." Ellis took her time. "They're worried about me, aren't they? Mother and father..."

"Yes. They are. They asked me if you still remembered to speak German."

"You know I do. My Russian is terrible anyway…" Ellis released the bun upon her crown, only to promptly coil back into its form, pinning it in place with each of those clasps.

"They're lonely, at home."

"They have one another, don't they? Are they angry because we haven't been back? Well. I don't want to go anyway."

"They aren't angry, Ellis. They're just worried about you."

"I don't need to be worried about. I'm a strong, young woman. If our parents don't know that by now, there's no helping them."

"They're wondering if you're going to get married again."

"No." Ellis shook her head. "Never am I going that again. I know some women make good footstools, but I'm not one of them. And I'll never be."

"I know you're not…I've noticed you've been spending time with that-Andrei, was it? Do you like him, Ellis?"

"I think he's a nice young man. But I don't want to like anyone. I just want to save lives and find cures. That life is fuller than falling in love and being a kitchen slave."

The younger sibling was not certain of which phrases to exploit, so simply, he remained silent a slight duration. "Well, even so. I would be careful. I don't like the looks of him. He's done some things not many people would be proud to admit. I don't know _what_, but those palms are dyed red for a reason."

"What are you accusing me of, little brother?"

"I think you've got a soft spot for him. He's just your type."

There was an uneasy tranquility and Ellis 'lips pulled at their tips. She walked to her sibling, cupping his face in either of those soft palms, tightly. And she leaned his head back, so their identical stares nearly touched, hers threatening to tear his soul into sad little fragments. Ellis would turn her brother to pulp.

"Don't go thinking you can tell me what to do, Franz. No one can do that. And if you try too hard, I'll leave you. I'll leave you like I did the rest of them. Don't you dare forget that." A kiss shaped like a brand to his forehead. "Let's not forget who's the elder here. You're the baby. Not me."

Then she released him.

And then that pretty little siren left her own room.

There was some portion of Ellis that always frightened that young man. She was a wild fire, and a powerful one at that. When her heart swelled and set and grasped, no amount of water would ease those great leaping flames birthed of her determination.

It was that quality -that attribute- that allowed her to conquer the world; that frightened him the most.

But it was alright. Because Ellis loved him with that entire crux.

And she owed a steady debt.

Franz left the room.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'm going to see my mother's grave."

"That's alright, Andrei. You know I can't go. Not yet."

"If not now, then when?"

"Later."

"Later?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

So Andrei asked Ellis.

And the nurse made a bouquet of pretty paper flowers, since no roses were found inside that terrible winter.

"This way she'll have them forever."

"Thank you."

The walk to Andrei's former home was long and solemn, as though the pair was marching to the poor woman's funeral. The Bolshevik held his nymph's hand, clenching it as though that limb was preventing him from falling to the fire. And she could feel his muscles tense, that great heart lurch inside his chest, his mouth desiccating, his feet going numb beneath him.

Andrei did not know what was to be expected, but he went on forward, facing those haggard streets with their dying children and the stray dogs that bit them. He had not forgotten how feral it was, the mentality of hopelessness and the lack of food or even a mere droplet of clean water.

How many had died since he left?

The cholera was coming back.

The suburbs were even emptier.

His red heart grew enraged.

"Andrei, this is so sad. I wish I could help them."

"You can. Become a communist."

Ellis' throat was sore. She gripped her counterpart's hand a little more tightly.

And then they stopped, standing before that hovel, that hole in the ground, that pathetic home. That prison, the one that housed them and raised them for twenty-two biting years.

Andrei could hear himself breathing, his crux kicking fiercely at his ribs as though they were a wall preventing freedom. They were ready to crack. He was ready to fall.

"Is this it, Andrei? Is this your home?"

"Yes. It is."

They walked to Natasha's grave.

And the elder son stared for a long time.

It was almost as though her absence was finally realized. Andrei had kept his guard up so very high that the truth would not sink in. He knew his mother had died; that her suffering met its end. But she was not _gone._ She was not gone until Andrei was faced with her make-shift tombstone, carved by the tired hand of his brother and marred previously by the vindication of knives and meat. The pink stains upon her name made his stomach coil into itself, a snake devouring its own tail, and those lips collapsed.

She did not deserve it.

She did not deserve any of it.

To be snubbed by those putrid aristocrats, to be cast away because her flesh was so badly wounded, to be thrown into the streets, to be given not one, but two desperate mouths to feed; to be cold and hungry and try so very God damn hard to earn a living based upon her sallow pay.

To die with a full stomach, stretching her out with its bulbous cancer.

Andrei's knees fell into the snow and his palms came to that twisting canvas, muffled sobs of unfettered anguish tearing from those dry mounds.

It had hit him all at once. The granite statute cracked and the pieces scattered all about that soggy earth. The dirt buried within the snow.

And Ellis watched as those dams finally collapsed underneath all of the pressure, placed there by the many weeks spent in their father's home. Thought had rung him out like a wet towel, and finally, Andrei wept, allotting for all the pain he had been nettling like a soldier.

"You were so good…" And then the animalistic cries that had attracted all of those peasants form their doors.

Ellis set her paper lilies upon Natasha's grave, her heat strained and her eyes wetted.

It occurred to her that this was a portion of Andrei not many had seen. Perhaps not even his own brother. Because he needed to be strong. For his mother. For Dmitri. For the people of Russia. For the future. So much so, he was not even allowed to cry. Not for anything. Not for anything at all.

But every machine breaks.

It was something of a phenomenon. Something she was able to witness without accident. He trusted her. With his past and his darling mother's grave.

And it was so sad.

The young woman's heart swelled. Because she knew loss. She knew that demon very well.

She fell to Andrei's side and she engulfed him as well as possible, her form being petit and his enormous. And she cried. There were no restraints. Ellis sobbed as though Natasha was her own mother, as though they had been endeared to one another for as long as memory sustained.

She needed to write to her family, to the one who gave her life, transgressions aside, to the sweet green-eyed woman who held her and sang those Hungarian lullabies.

They remained that way nearly a quarter of an hour, Andrei accepting that doll into his arms and throwing emotion into the languid air. Then so suddenly, he calmed, wiping tears away with a powerful red sleeve.

"Thank you, Ellis. Thank you for coming with me today. And thank you for making those flowers…I'm sure mother would have loved them. I'm sure she does."

And Ellis, who was still taken with upset, cleared her face, managing to give that man a curve of those sad formations. For she had done the same, bottled away all her sorrowed until the glass became too heavy and rolled form the shelf.

For a moment, they were free.

And Andrei kissed her gently upon the forehead with tears still loitering within his lashes.

"Thank you, Ellis."

But that muse was speechless. There was only a solid movement of the head and either rose, going home after glancing to Natasha's poor resting place once again.

Ellis waved good-bye, choking upon her misery. But Andrei did not look back. The globe needed Atlas to keep it from falling, to hold it up to that star. And no one did that job better.


	18. Chapter 18

Andrei came to that meeting, dressed proudly within that fine crimson coat only to have each and every pair of eyes stare at him, weld bullets into his flesh and throw him into a pot if steaming water.

"What?"

"Andrei, we know you're living with that pig, Ivan Braginski." They looked at him as though he was a traitor, cancer inside a healthy body. "Why?"

There was a loud sigh. "Because I'm his son." Words shriveled like grapes in the sun. "But I just found that out recently. My mother, before she died, told us who our father was. So we went out to find him and we did. Dmitri wanted to stay, because the home was opened up to us, and you know I can't leave my brother…I'm sorry, Comrades. But I have to stay with my family."

There was heavy consideration a moment; the judges looked onto the felon and spit their verdict.

"So what, Andrei? How can you even call yourself a Bolshevik? There are people starving and dying in the streets, and here you are, living in a mansion with your fancy red coat, whining about the peoples' cause. You're just a rich boy. It's in your blood."

Andrei seethed in his accumulating rage. "That's not fucking true. I grew up in the slums. For twenty-two terrible fucking years, I ate practically nothing. Then I worked until my hands were stained red. Because those capitalist bastards couldn't give me any more than meager pay, my mother _died._ For two goddamn years, we tried to save her. We worked twelve hour days, even, and it still wasn't enough. Not even between the two of us." His fists were shaking. "So don't you tell me I'm not a Bolshevik because I found a man who wants to call himself my father. I'd burn that house to the fucking ground if my brother wasn't inside it. Because despite any cause I'm fighting for, my family comes first. My brother is all I've got."

A silence.

"Perhaps this is actually a blessing." A voice raised above all that stagnant air. "Now we have someone working on their side. I'm willing to bet that Ivan Braginski has met the tsar a few times. Maybe they're even friends."

Consideration.

"I could ask him. It wouldn't be surprising. They've at least had to meet once or twice. At least that. You know how it with all these aristocrats. They've all met the tsar and they're all best friends."

There was a unanimous noise of agreement, and all the men in that room weighed their options as though hands were forced to play as a scale.

"You're right, Andrei."

"Will you tell us anything that comes up? Anything important."

"Of course. I have no secrets. If anything big pops up, you will be the first people I tell."

And everyone nodded, mutual approval washing all the quick animosity from those sallow walls, the rusting corners that encompassed those angry souls and their plans meant to alter the world.

The meeting began, and relief afflicted Andrei like the numbing effects of sweet morphine. These people would drag down entire cities if they were enraged enough. Forget the ones living in those towers and their pretty little institutions. Under the Bolsheviks, there would be a new Russia. A fresh and healthy Russia.

And anyone who wasn't a Bolshevik, who was merely a sniffling rich son, would be destroyed. It was those people who were causing the entire nation to burn.

Andrei wasn't one of them. But it didn't matter what he thought. No, no. Not at all. Because the reality was not his. It was theirs. And if their opinion called him the wayward aristocrat, then he was indeed the wayward aristocrat.

And eventually, justice would slowly trickle in through the open sky light, and all those wayward aristocrats would drown inside it. That is when the snow would be dyed a harsh crimson, with their essence this time, and those that were traitors would sustain shallow graves.

Andrei would need to be careful.

At least long enough for his comrades to trust him once again.


	19. Chapter 19

And there they were again. Where they were every morning. The pair, the man and his son. Ivan was awake before Dmitri came, before the young man was even conscious himself. And upon his lap sat a pretty gift wrapped in reflective blue paper with a ribbon thick as marrow, sitting upon that handsome thing's crown. He was careful not to mar it with his fingers, for the shiniest of surfaces were always the easiest to ruin.

Then Dmitri entered, and he sat down, glancing into his father's excited eyes.

"Hello…What is that?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to give you and your brother something, but Andrei's not here at the moment. You can share with him, can't you?" That warmed smile.

"Of course. We share everything right down the center. Thank you." Dented brows. "Do you want me to open it? Maybe I can go get Andrei…"

"You don't have to drag him in here. I know he doesn't want to see me."

"No. That's not true. He's just…he's just _Andrei._ And he's always like that. My brother keeps to himself-until he's bothered into a conversation. But once you get him talking, he always has a lot to say. And he likes you."

Ivan laughed. "You're sweet, Dmitri. But you don't have to lie to me. It's alright Andrei doesn't like me. I'm honestly surprised you don't feel the same way…" Attention to the window, light fluttering in as though heaven shot straight towards that sick man. "I want to get to know him, but he needs his time. And I have time. I have a lot of time."

"Well…You're right. But eventually, he'll feel bad for living in your home and acting so ungrateful. Then he'll come and speak to you."

Their gazes twined. "Please don't put your brother down. You two need one another. There' shouldn't be any animosity when there doesn't need to be any."

A sigh. "I'm sorry, father." Then Dmitri thought. "I love you."

"What?" The inquiry was kind; sugared.

"I love you. I'm sorry if Andrei is hurting your feelings. I don't believe this is your fault."

"Thank you, Dmitri. I love you too. Please take your gift."

"Thank you." The tall being rose and gently stole away that wonderful azure realm, so much potential stacked inside it. "It's lovely. Did you wrap it?'

"Yes. But I had help from Ellis. Actually, I told her to pick up the things in that box, since I can't go out. And she showed me how to wrap it up nicely. Do you like it?"

An affirmative nod came. "It's nice. I don't want to open it; it's too pretty."

"Well…I'm happy you like it."

A smile and that gift was set at the younger's side. "I want Andrei to see it, so I won't open it right now. Thank you."

"Of course. Thank Ellis too, if you see her."

"I will."

There was a comfortable flavor of silence. Radiant, because happiness resided all about the air.

"Father, may I ask you something?"

"Да, of course. You don't need my permission."

"Well, what did you do before…"

"This?"

"Yes. This."

"I was a lot of things. When I was young, I studied. In school, I learned math and science, literature, music, and French." Consideration. "And when I was old enough, I got a job at the theatre, cleaning. No one really understood it. For the longest time, they all thought I would be a part of the government, someone important. That's what I was groomed for, anyway." Seconds passed. "You know, Dmitri, I never knew my parents. They always told me I had noble blood, and I lived with an old couple in a boarding school they ran."

"Truly?"

"Truly…" Time seemed to choke, coherency tripped and sound fell. "I had always loved the opera. What I had seen of it. And amongst all my classes, I loved music the most. I learned to sing and I played the piano, even though I've forgotten how. And I wanted to work there so badly, even if they just made me a janitor, I was happy. I had to convince the headmasters to let me take a job, and I pleaded so hard. Because I wanted my own income that wasn't this 'untouchable inheritance' everyone kept rambling on about. And in all honesty, I didn't care so much about the money. I just wanted to sing…" Sight became entangled within the past, as though Ivan was standing upon the stage, telling that history to anyone sitting inside the audience. "When they had rehearsals and plays and performances, and came in and cleaned. I talked with the musicians and all those pretty young women, and men who took the roles of the heroes. It was great, even though they laughed. I know they did."

"Why would they laugh?"

"I was an eccentric young man. Not only young, but incredibly…tall, I suppose. They poked fun at me, calling me 'The Gentle Giant' and telling me to clean the cobwebs from the ceiling. After all, I only had to reach upward. But I didn't care. I was happy, and I knew all of them liked me, even if they did laugh sometimes. They were nice people. I ended up making a lot of friends."

Dmitri nodded that dull blond head.

"One day, they caught me singing one of the songs in an opera we were working on when I was at work. The director stopped me and said, 'Ivan, comeonto the stage. Stand in the center.' So I did. The world froze at that second. My heart was so loud; I was surprised no one else could hear it, pounding through my chest. And they all stared, as though they were looking at a figurine in a case after rearranging the scene a few times. But for once, I was in the middle. And then, they told me to sing. So, I sang my whole heart out. When I stopped, all those years later, there was applause. Then they told me I got the part. Apparently, they needed a roll filled and not many people wanted it. And those who did didn't do a good enough job. So I went from cleaning to singing, and instead of running errands, I memorized lines."

"Can you still sing?"

Lips curled at their edges. "I think I can. But ask any opera singer and they'd probably tell you something different, if they heard my voice now." A solemn grin. "Opening night came, after about a month and a half of intensive rehearsals, and I was so nervous I could have fainted. But when I finally stepped on stage, it all came rushing back, and I sang like I had all those times before. And that was that. I was in as many performances as I could be in. Sometimes, I even took the leading roll. People would stop me in the street and ask for an autograph. Then they told me they didn't think I was so tall in person and thanked me for signing their papers and napkins and whatever else they gave me. There was always a pen in my pocket. There had to be."

"That's great."

"Well, it was. But I had to grow up. I was told that it was time for me to embrace what I had been born to do, and I went to court. I said good-bye to my friends, to the opera, and to my dreams, which had come true only for a little while. It must have been one of the most painful things I went through. I was so happy and all of it disappeared within a matter of seconds. Suddenly, I found myself attending beautiful parties and pouring my whole day into the state, to Russia." A breath. " I couldn't bring myself to go back, to see the shows. It broke my heart into million sharp pieces. So I forgot. I drowned out the memories and the sorrow and I sorted through my papers and attended the get-togethers, and I met all the other preordained men and women, who were slaves just as I was."

"That's terrible. You probably helped more people by singing than you did doing all of that idiotic work."

"That's what I believed. Regardless, I did my duty, and I was given my inheritance and my life. I bought this home and I stowed the rest away while I earned more. It went on from there, and finally, I met Natasha."

A stillness.

"Whenever we had affairs with Belarus, Natasha and I would see one another. I liked her. She was a nice woman. I told her that I used to perform in operas, and she asked me to sing. I think that was one of the kindest things anyone had done for me. Just asking me to sing…"

Ivan's eyes sucked in their misery.

"And we came closer, and a few months later, we all found out that she had gotten pregnant and ran away. Her reputation had been completely ruined and she refused to say who the father was. I knew it could have been me, even if we didn't meet one another so often."

Dmitri nodded.

"It was horrible. Not knowing where she was. I was scared to death and guilty as hell, but I knew that I wanted to be there. I never had a father either. I could never do that sort of thing to my own children, that is, if they were mine. But she had disappeared so well, no one could find her. All the searches were fruitless, even when we shook all of the possibilities down like we were robbing them. After a while, I just let it go. There was nothing I could do. I figured that if Natasha wanted to be found, she would have been. My heart ached, but somehow, I learned to accept it, and I lunged into a world of papers and dull meetings, and parties dressed in silk. And then I got sick."

Dmitri did not omit words.

"At first, I could function. It was a little cough, but nothing too serious. And then my muscles started to ache, and then my heart began to murmur, and then my bones began to shake, and then the cough got worse, and then the migraines started to come and then the hallucinations began, and then I hired a doctor. At that point, I had taken a countless amount of time from work, so a substitute was already in line. Not like I needed one. The whole time I did this job, it felt as though nothing had been accomplished. Luckily I had been doing it so damn long. I could take some time away from it. I knew some people-a lot of people- are sick and there's nothing they can do but continue working."

"Yes…That's true."

A grave movement of the head. "Sometimes, after being medicated, I would sleep for days on end. Entire weeks. I know once I slept for ten days straight and I awoke thinking it had only been about six hours. Eventually, all of the doctors gave up, each one better than the last; until I had to bring in the very best and beg them, just _beg them_ to try. Dr. Edelstein accepted the invitation with no qualms. It was almost as though he and his sister rushed over from Austria-Hungary and the second they arrived here I began to feel better. Slowly, but it occurred."

Ivan's lips squeezed together a moment, as though he had tasted something that made him uncertain of the flavor. "Then you and Andrei came, and here we are." A slight grin. "Was that too much? That's not really what you asked for, was it?"

"No. But it's what I wanted."

Either smiled to one another, identical lips curling in an identical manner, cruxes in a kind of sweet clamor. They were happy, respect growing from the root's of Dmitri's young soul, and all that could be done was remain and simper while life seeped in through hungry pores.

"Thank you for listening, Dmitri."

"Of course. Thank you for telling me."


	20. Chapter 20

He came into her room and sat upon that bed, smoking a cigarette and holding a fresh bottle of vodka. It was contained within that handsome blue package, and Andrei wished to share with his companion. However, that enchanting little nymph was not present, but was moments before. The Bolshevik followed the harmony drifting from her chamber and took sweet refuge against those perfectly smooth sheets, next to her violin which once cried at her touch.

Andrei grew a bit jealous of it.

The door opened.

Then a yelp.

"Andrei…" Her strong hand pinned against that startled chest.

"What are you doing here? Have you come to say hello?"

"Yes I have."

"Are you going to get me drunk?"

"No. But you can be if you like." A mischievous little grin. "Come sit with me, please."

So Ellis took to his side, moving that warmed instrument. "I see you got Mr. Braginski's gift."

"It was odd. A chest, two bottles of vodka and a stack of roubles. I don't want his money. Why does he need to win me over?"

"He doesn't want to win you over. He wants to do something nice for his sons. There's a lot of generosity in his heart. I think you should spend a few hours with him. Get to know him."

"Everyone says that."

"Well, it's true Andrei. You should." Ellis took the bottle and removed that pretty little cork with her fine white teeth, a wild thing tearing the head from a meal. And she drank that clear nectar, stealing a decent chug before returning that hapless victim. "It's good."

And the taller took a sip. "Yes. It is."

"Are you a virgin?"

Andrei spit up a bit. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?"

"It's a personal question." That creature simpered, lips coiling into something terrible.

"If I knew you were doing to get drunk so easily, I wouldn't have brought the vodka."

Laughter. "I'm not drunk." That alcohol was stolen, drained decently and returned.

"Don't suck the whole thing down."

"I won't. Answer my question."

"No. I'm not."

"You're not a virgin or you're not going to answer me?"

"I'm not a virgin."

Tainted lips. "So, who was she?"

"Ksenia." A healthy swig. "I loved her. But once her parents found out about me, they locked her up and married her off. A lot of people seem to think I'm trouble. But that's alright. I've gotten over it." The bottle was passed. "What about you?"

"No. I'm not." Gulp. "But I don't want to get into it. I'm not sure why I asked you anyway…" Pass. "It's unfair not to tell you, but it's a long story."

"I like long stories."

"Well, you'll just have to wait. I don't feel much like crying at the moment."

"I won't make you cry."

"Thank you, Andrei."

Gulp. Pass.

Gulp. Pass.

"Why don't you lie down?"

The young man raised an eye, but those instructions were followed, and that grand body was stretched out against the mattress, the bottle's tender neck clutched in a powerful right hand. And the pretty doll, with such mutilated sadness inside those emerald eyes took a place beside him, that shoulder a pillow and that midsection a handle. Ellis' arm overtook Andrei's abdomen and gazes were buried beneath their black lashes.

"You're strange, Ellis."

"I know I am, Andrei. But you smell nice and your body is warm. Sometimes I just need someone to be around, and you volunteered."

That lengthily arm served to bring the goddess in nearer, enormous palm exasperated against a dainty shoulder. "I like you, Ellis."

"I like you too, Andrei…You're nice to lie next to. Your clothes smell like flowers."

"Thank you." He knew it was not an insult, and the man with the dirtied Russian blood rested that tired perception, and drifted to the lavender field held within his cottons.

There was a euphoric peace wallowing within his crux, that kernel blossoming and the one at his flank causing warmth to eat all of those once frigid limbs.

Again, those chambers swelled and that heart tapped at his chest, a persistent stranger knocking, creating a rhythm for the ears of that precious creature occupied against him. Ellis smelled like blossoms. She smelled like blossoms and hospitals and honey. And now vodka. Thick raven locks held the aura of roses and that snow white visage glowed in heat. He could feel her entirely. Sense each of those wiry sentiments bending around her and seeming to take fragments of that sugared soul.

It must be hard to watch so many suffer.

The world must have taken its stoop upon her seemingly frail shoulders and sat until those glorious windows sank in their sorrow and those plump mounds collapsed into themselves.

All of that, it belonged to him, at least at the moment. Because Ellis offered those internal signals, all of those sad little holes, and with careful pliers, he tried to straighten the stubborn wire.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

"No, but thank you. I just need to rest. And I'd like to do so here." Her cheek nestled against that chest and the boa's hold grew tighter. "I'm sorry, Andrei. The hard days are the worst." Her voice was not sound, but it did not shatter. It was even, although there were flaws. Her poor heart was prepared to burn and her entire anatomy would react, the dominos collapsing after the first colossal blow was struck.

Then her mouth ripped.

Then her eyes squeezed together.

"One of my patients died. I've pretended that nothing had happened all day, but every time I lie, all I can see if her face, crying and struggling, then going into a seizure and just letting go. It occurred in a matter of seconds- a minute and a half, if there was even a time. And she was doing better. Finally, she was able to smile, even though her debt was rising and her husband has passed. Then, in a flash, it was over, and an entire person was gone…" A sniff. "I felt her hand go cold. I'm a terrible nurse…"

Andrei only listened as that core was emptied all about his breast, leaking from those miserable wells. He held her. He kept her near. He granted her understanding.

"Did you do your best?"

"What?"

"Did you do your best?"

"Yes…I tried with my entire heart. I did everything I possibly could."

"Then you're not allowed to blame yourself because it was someone else's time."

Ellis grew silent.

"For two entire years, I took up a job that had me on my feet twelve hours a day or more. I dyed my hands red. It made my knees hurt. I left my mother at home alone, and I pushed and pushed and pushed. Yet, all we could afford was bread and tea. Meager soup. Thin broth. I have never worked harder in all my life, and when my mother finally stopped fighting, I didn't blame myself. At first I did. I pulled myself in two. But then, after walking throughout the hallways, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking, I realized I did what I could. I tried my very hardest. I pushed until I bled and blistered, and sometimes, it simply isn't enough. But what allows you to sleep at night is the fact that you gave everything you had and you didn't stop until it was truly over. That's why you can't blame yourself. You did what was in your power, and that's all you can do."

Tranquility.

"As long as you tried, and you know you did, you can't blame yourself. You're a great nurse, Ellis. But sometimes, people pass on. There's nothing that can be done but accept it and prevent it when you can."

And thought graced the mind of the nurse, the one who had given devotion and swallowed her writhing for all those around her. She ran through halls; she put passion into her zenith; she saved lives and sometimes, she could not.

Andrei was correct.

Even when one submerged their entire soul in the garden of hope and attempt, the ending may run wayward, and loss floods like water past a ruined dam.

But Ellis had pushed. All she did was push. And there could be a glittered pride for that, even in sour failure.

"Thank you, Andrei."

"Of course."

Minutes took birth and death. The nurse slept, absconding with her emotion, and Andrei allowed himself to be used as a human pillow, never so happy to fill such a wondrous occupation.


	21. Chapter 21

Andrei seemed alive just getting into that automobile, as though a portion of the anguish and rage had drifted from his skin and no longer possessed him so wholly. That morning, he rose from the mud and took the caked dirt from his hide. That morning, he was something new.

"What are you so happy about? I can see you hiding smiles."

"It's nothing, Dmitri."

"Nothing?" A omniscient grin. "_You're in love._"

I'm not in love. Don't be ridiculous."

"Yes you are." An elbow. "You're not happy about work unless you're in _love._"

Andrei only sighed at his younger brother, turning towards that icy window. He let breath drift from his throat and fog up that surface, prodding his finger tip into that pool, drawing nothing in particular.

"I'm sorry, Andrei. You know I'm only kidding."

"I know, Dmitri."

Then they went to that bustling factory, saying good-bye to the driver and walking in through that chilled threshold. Then they clocked in, and then they got to their duties.

Even in the beginning, Andrei's mind was tearing from focus.

He was not in that soap factory. He was at home, with Ellis at his side. Ellis, the nurse; Ellis, who liked the smell of his clothing; Ellis, who drank vodka and ending up crying; Ellis, who felt sad for others' loss; Ellis with her gorgeous ink-black hair and eyes blooming with the world.

Ellis.

His heart again kissed to his ribs. It made him sick. It was stupid to be nervous, only _thinking_ of someone. Especially when that someone wasn't even present.

Just as it was stupid to fall in love. They hadn't known one another all too long, and that charming thing probably didn't even feel anything towards him. After all, that is how sirens function. They play and pretend and sing, and so suddenly, one finds they have crashed into a cliff.

She was too beautiful for her own good.

For _his_ own good.

A sigh. Another edition of red dye made.

Andrei wanted her. Not only physically. No. He wanted to eat her alive, swallow her whole and make that pretty little-Austrian-Hungarian his own. He didn't want to share her; he didn't want to negotiate. All he wanted was that woman.

And how idiotic was that?

Truly.

It was ridiculous.

It was all her fault.

Before, Andrei was so focused, so wired to the Bolshevik's cause and remolding Russia in the shape of a hammer and sickle. He still was, but now there was a mistress to his first love. Was she playing games? Or did she genuinely like him? Was he making the entire thing up, hallucinating in bed with a building fever while all his loved ones stood around him, panicking?

Maybe there was no Ellis.

Maybe there was no Ivan Braginski.

Maybe his mother was still alive.

No. Don't be ludicrous. That's just stupid.

Another edition of red dye made.

At least Ellis worked hard, exactly the way it should be. Those gorgeous hands were not worn, but anyone could see that the lady's heart was certainly giving. What was more admirable than a nurse volunteering at a hospital? Sacrificing her free time to help those far less fortunate. Those who were damaged at work; those who had been marred by the hands of their husbands and masters; those who had shattered bones and those who were giving birth. Those who had been by cut by glass when fighting for their beliefs.

The world had too many woman who wore pearls and silk and powder, sitting in their shelves and simply giving the world more useless girls who grew and went into the creation of more useless girls.

Andrei only respected women with filthy hands and tired faces, who scurried around a hospital, frantic, to create good work. Only women who drank vodka. Only with passion inside their hearts.

And he had known her long enough to realize all of these qualities.

Andrei wondered how long it would be before he revisited the hospital, dreamy eyed and heart sick, all due to that crippling disease named Ellis. Ellis with her gorgeous ink-black hair and eyes blooming with the world.

It wouldn't be a terrible duration. A significant portion of that crux had been infected already. Conquered and oppressed by all the mangled sentiment that virus forced him to feel. The symptoms were terrible. His heart sped up, his sight grew hazy; his palms nervous; his legs weak; his mind distracted; his entire body flying.

The poor man was repressed and he didn't even realize it, his sanity had warped so heavily.

But at least, for now, Andrei functioned. Functioned and created dye and came home smelling of flowers, which only drew the nymph in nearer.

A sigh.

And another edition of red dye made.


	22. Chapter 22

They were all standing within Ivan Braginski's room, glancing to one another, glancing to him, glancing to the floorboards. It was almost as though they were children, waiting to be read to.

The man was thinking, words of grave importance caught within his throat, adhering to the walls of his esophagus as they were built perfectly too large.

The mouth opened; it closed; then it opened again. "I'd really like to have a dinner party."

"A dinner party?" Franz tilted his head. "Why would you want to have a dinner party, Mr. Braginski?"

"Well, I just want to entertain someone for a little while. Maybe get out of this room since I've been doing a lot better later. I won't be running around doing anything strenuous. I'll sit."

The doctor and the nurse turned towards one another, as did the twin brothers.

A dinner party?

Who could Mr. Braginski possibly request? He had not been outside for several months, if not more than that. Who knew how long it had truly been? And no one came to visit except for that boy of his, as well as the doctors and their medicine.

"Please, Franz."

"Well, alright…But you can't plan such a thing by yourself. Who were you thinking of inviting?"

"I know a few people. And all of you can invite someone, if you like. Ellis, you might have some friends from the hospital, and Andrei and Dmitri, I'm sure you two have someone you might like to come along…"

Neither of them would _dare_ bring familiars. All were factory workers or Bolsheviks. The factory workers would not come and the Bolsheviks would simply break down laughing.

"What about me?" The inquiry came from Franz; his lips rolled into a minute grin. "Don't you think I have friends, Mr. Braginski?"

Ivan laughed. "I've never seen you leave this house."

"Well…I don't. I suppose I'll just invite you, sir."

After Ivan smiled, there was a silence. "Will you help me put it together? Maybe we can have it next Sunday. We can clean up the dining room and put out a few decorations."

"Of course." Ellis said. "I can do a lot of that. I'll go pick up a few nice place mats and organize the entire room. I'm certain there's a shop that sells pretty invitations somewhere in this city."

"Thank you."

So they planned; they planned as Andrei and Dmitri stared, the thought of having a dinner party horrifying them. Their mother had attempted to teach manners, but there was never a time to use them, not once had they been to a formal occasion, not once had they dressed nicely to go to dinner. Had they been made to have a pleasant conversation?

Neither could recall such an event.

The fanciest place they had been in, they already lived inside. Before that, it was only their home and the factory; sometimes-rarely-it was the bar.

And that was it. Those were all the places they went to.

And until they required books, that was it.

The mere proposition left them somewhat mortified.

Attention came to them.

"Do you two have any suggestions?"

"You should buy booze."

Dmitri reprimanded his brother. "He means wine."

"No; I mean _booze._"

Ellis was the one to laugh.

"Well…I don't really drink." Ivan wore a pair of furrowed brows. "But maybe either of you could pick up wine, or vodka. Whatever you like."

"I can do that." Andrei.

"We'll find someone nice." Dmitri.

Then the plans kept raining down and the siblings were left, uncertain of what to suggest, even what to think. There was hardly any etiquette within their blood, if any whatsoever. And neither wanted to be judged by the aristocrats who would arrive, because those were the people Ivan associated himself to. Of course. It was simplistic logic.

And so suddenly, they were allowed to go.

Immediately, Dmitri stopped Ellis, all three of them standing within those winding hallways, that suddenly became illusion educing. Dr. Edelstein had stayed behind. Ivan required a quick check-up.

"Ellis, will you teach us some manners?"

"We've never been to dinner."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly."

The young woman's neatly kept lines wilted. "Alright. I'll go make lunch and we'll all eat together. It's really not so hard."

"Aren't there cooks?"

"I can make my own lunch, Dmitri. Besides, I don't want to forget my recipes. I'd probably cry if I did."

"Can I help?" It was Andrei who asked.

"Of course! Do you want to help, Dmitri?"

"Oh, no. That's alright. I'll just go read until it's ready." The other broke off, waving good-bye and leaving those two their own discretion. Andrei grasped Ellis' hand, fresh meat to the jaws of a hungry beast.

"Do you really want to help me with lunch?"

A stupid kind of grin.

Ellis smacked her counterpart. "You're going to help me anyway. So you better not whine at me."

"Do you want to do something after you teach me to be a good boy?"

"Yes. But I can't teach you to be a good-boy. You can act like a good boy, but you're naughty deep down. I can feel it."

"Well, after you're done teaching me to pretend."

"We should build a snowman." Ellis glanced to one of those numerous windows lining that grand home. "There's enough."

"I've never done that."

The nurse stopped dead, a palm securing the left side of her chest and her feet stumbling dramatically. "_What?_ never built a snow man? What am I going to do with you? I have to teach you manners _and_ snowmen? You're a snowman _virgin? Is that it?_"

Andrei laughed.

"It's not funny! Look at all the work you've given me! I should-!"

But Ellis could not do anything, for Andrei had muffled her ranting with his lips, lifting her small body from the floor.

"Shut up, sweetheart."

Her feet returned to the tiles.

Then she expelled her mirth, taking up her opposite's numerals.

"You better be careful. I'll get you for that, Andrei."

"I know you will."

So they went and made lunch.

Upon the plates were odd sausages and glasses of handsome milk, as well as shining silver forks and knives. Things the Austrian man and Hungarian woman had sent. Franz had requested them, because either of them longed for a portion of Vienna, even though that prodigal daughter was far too stubborn to ask.

The food was set down, and Ellis gulped down her milk as soon as an alcoholic would take to vodka, cringing afterwards and setting that glass down. "I hate milk. It's only good with cake." That mouth was wiped with a napkin. She focused upon her company. "Go ahead. I'll yell at you when you do something rude."

Dmitri prodded his sausage with his fork, cutting a piece, while the opposite picked up the entire meal, utensil bending and attempting to bit the end of it, sauce dribbling upon his chin and creating an utter mess.

"_Stop!_"

"What?" The elder's mouth was full. "That's what napkins are for."

"No, Andrei. That's what bath towels are for. Put it down and cut it into sections. I didn't give you the knife so you could look at it and marvel over how shiny it is. Try again."

The half-Russian's tongue poked from his lips and instructions were followed. That dirty chin was wiped clean.

And Ellis ate her lunch, correcting them, beating at those unruly knees with her ruler. "Get your elbows off the table; stop shaking the entire room when you cut; chew with your mouth closed; no, don't lift the plate and drink the sauce; don't get milk on your face; don't slam the glass down; please don't make such odd faces at me; that's not where you put your forks; oh well, that's better; there, now it's in the places; yes, I know it's specific; it's all _about _specific."

Then she picked up all of those dirtied plates and Andrei stalked after her, leaving Dmitri to the splinters within the wood.

As she washed that delicate porcelain, Andrei wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, resting his chin against the crown of her haven head.

"What are you doing, Andrei?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to be around you."

Those plump mounds curved into something satisfied.

"After this, we should go outside."

"Well. I wanted to get something done. I have to write to my mother…" Something within that voice betrayed her.

"Hmm." A whine.

"Andrei."

"You can write to her after we're done building a snow man. Who knows? Maybe the snow will melt and we'll never get to make one. I'll have to wait an _entire_ year not to be a snowman virgin anymore." His weight crushed her poor marrow.

"Andrei…"

"What?"

"You're heavy."

"I know. Here." With her hands still within that sink, the man lifted her, carrying that tiny woman from her assumed duty. Her arms were still wet, and she was not wearing a coat, but the elder twin, the one with such diverse blood, stole his trinket and ran as fast as his legs allowed.

The bandit escaped into the snow, and he allotted his companion's feet to the ice.

The poor thing was wearing house slippers.

They had a snow ball fight first.

And Dmitri sat, his lips curling. He was correct. He was so horribly correct he wondered how they did not set their own eyes upon it, that truth glittering brighter than a lone star within a clear sky. A fact coiling about their toes as persistent cat.

They were in love.

Even if they could not realize it.


	23. Chapter 23

Ellis sat at that dining room table, isolated, taking the rose colored tissue paper and wrapping them into pretty blooms made to inhabit that clever crystal bowl. At her side was a brown bag whose innards consisted of golden rimmed invitations and placemats woven of silver fiber. They were beautiful, and they caught the young woman's attention the moment she crossed into that happy little shop.

The rest of them had gone out, Andrei and Dmitri, and she was a fresh arrival to that glorious nest, sitting with her ordained list of completed errands and that reflective tissue paper sprinkled in golden flakes, being processed into that garden of faux roses.

Franz had elected to remain, for he was a constant, just as Ivan Braginski. Either stayed within the home. If Ivan was locked away, Franz was locked away with him. If Ivan ventured outside, Franz was at his flank, medicine within his arms and careful attention inside his attentive pupils. Even if the doctor was told to leave, his feet would remain bolted to the floor, as if nails held him in place.

So the sister was left to her paper and her glue and her clever phalanges, which worked with an odd sort of powerful grace. Strong, but beautiful, threatening and delicate, Life and death. Even her pores were contradictions.

Another peachy mess of petals found sanctuary inside that sparkling container.

And with such easy work, the mind drifted to the others.

The mind arrived at Andrei's feet.

After all the promises that had been made to herself, Ellis still found her stubborn sols dragging her away to the blond man's welcome mat. And she stood there, mouth stupid and lashes spread, expecting generosity that she had never requested.

Ellis liked Andrei. And she only liked him because that crux was not foolish enough to say love. Remember what happened last time? Remember what you went through, Ellis. Love dropped you down a God damned well.

You're still falling.

When are you going to feel the water slam against your flesh? Break your bones?

It can't be long.

No, no. It can't be long.

The little Austrian-Hungarian glanced to that shrinking circle of light and found her hands to be occupied with roses.

A sigh.

Something about That Bolshevik. That Trouble Maker made her sick. Her kernel murmured. Her center was at a constant unease when he approached, when he took her petit hand, when he kissed her, when he quite literally swept her from her feet, when he threw snow at her and captured her within a heated embrace.

That poor stomach crawled, writhing, collapsing until the poor nurse was forced to drop her bloom from the affect upon her knuckles.

It was adopted and molded.

Another rose into the bowl.

_God damn it._ A promise had been made. Not to anyone else but herself. Not for anyone but the siren, the siren who did not even wish to be a siren. Ellis could not love. Love was a curse and an ailment and a handicap. Love was a drug and a tranquilizer and a crippling pipe. How can one move forward when bound in one place? Addicts never flourish. Paraplegics never heal. Men turn to driveling fools and women into blinded slaves.

Her heart could not shatter a second time. Not after all the sweat and blood she had lost. Not after all the Russian that was crammed into her mouth. Not after she had run across entire nations.

Ellis could not sacrifice herself a second time.

No. Not a second time.

Not again.

Not a second time.

Never.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

Ellis was changed. Ellis had grown. Ellis had lost too much energy to kick anymore. Ellis could not afford to gamble. Ellis was tired of crying. Ellis wanted her innocence back. Ellis wanted the scars on her hide gone.

But Ellis knew the sears, left so many years ago, where scars. And Ellis would never iron them out, no matter the effort pushed into the task.

Another rose into the bowl.

Emotions strangled by logic.

A young man named Andrei sent into exile.

The excommunicated duchess resumed her work, dropping those heavy thoughts as an anchor into the sea. But there were not chains. The ship swam away, foam and froth the only thing willing to chase after it.

Another rose into the bowl.

Another thought poisoned.


	24. Chapter 24

They made the invitations. They sent them out; they gave them away; they waited for Sunday to come.

And eventually, it did.

Ivan dressed in the finest blouse he owned, having showered and cleaned the garment beforehand. Those light blond follicles were set into place with a comb and black trousers wrapped around those burly legs that seemed to do so little walking. He even polished his cane, which looked just as bright and optimistic as he did.

Then, at the right time, all those housemates met within that handsome front room, both Andrei and Dmitri in fine attire with Ellis in a splendid blue dress, Franz just as clean. There were bowls of little delicacies set out, cookies, fruits, and vegetables cut into appeasing shapes, candies and numerous sorts of crackers and cheese. Then there were bowls of flowers Ellis had made for decoration. The poor woman must have birthed at least three hundred faux blooms because those crystalline containers were found at every turn.

And it was quiet.

Ivan admired all of his attendants, each of them wonderful from their toes to the crows of their heads. They were each like pleasing dolls, all worthy of being kept upon a shelf and so dear, none of the children were allowed to play with them; they were porcelain and wrapped in beautiful silk.

"Thank you, everyone." There was a smile on the sick man's face. "I truly appreciate all your help and cooperation; And each of you look fantastic."

A unanimous thank you.

"You look very nice as well, Mr. Braginski. I like your hair." Ellis held a smile against those cherry lips.

"Спасибо, Ellis."

"Of course."

And they intermingled, Andrei and Ellis standing in one place and eating crackers caked with cheese, while the others stood in their concentration, speaking.

"Did you invite anyone, Andrei?"

"No…I don't really know anyone worth inviting. Did you?"

"Yes. My friend Lilia from work, but she was the only one. I didn't want to have too many people come. I know no one else invited more than two or three friends anyway. It seemed doubtful that anyone wanted to sit at dinner and hear huge conversation about medicine. That wouldn't necessarily be fair."

"I don't think it would have mattered. Dmitri didn't invite anyone else either. Did Franz?"

"No. But he doesn't venture out very often."

"Then who's coming?"

"Mr. Braginski sent invitations to a few old friends, I think."

The other did not speak, only rolled words around with his tongue amongst that pricey cheese.

A single knock came upon that heavy door, and before any of those residents could answer, a butler materialized from the air and held open that grand threshold.

Before anything could be said, a blond woman rushed inside and caught Ellis within her strong arms, completely disregarding everyone else.

"Hello, Lilia." Ellis kissed her cheek. "Come meet Mr. Braginski. But first, this is his son, Andrei."

The companion turned around and regarded that tall young man, a shameless smile the size of the sun overtaking her lips. Those brown eyes picked him up and shook him while a hand sent his into seizure.

"It's nice to meet you! I'm Lilia."

"It's nice to meet you."

Were all her friends as eccentric as she?

"Andrei, I'm going to introduce Lilia to everyone else, alright?" Her gaze told him he was allowed to follow.

"Of course, go ahead." But the half Russian stayed with his cheese and his corner.

And the two were off, hands wound together almost as though they were small girls, and Andrei regarded, wishing his companion was not stolen away.

After that, no one else knocked upon that grand door.

For an entire hour, Ivan glanced to the windows, to the porthole, listening intently, half way into a conversation with someone and half way outside, waiting, distracted.

When dinner was set upon the table, one could feel the heartbreak cast within the stale air. It was doubtful they would begin flooding his door, asking for a section inside that glorious home. No. They were in their own places, sitting down to their own meals and conversing with their own families.

Ivan's crux thumped to the floor and remained, rotting upon those shining marble tiles. It was the same surface that had been polished a thousand times over in preparation for that very occasion.

And there had been only one person to present it to.

A great sigh heaved from the his chest and with slow feet frozen in loss, the frigid one, the party's host, filed into the dining hall with his few guests.

Then the plates were set on the table, and the room was loaded in polite chatter, mostly between Ellis and her acquaintance. Andrei and Dmitri spoke occasionally, and the man, sitting at the head of table kept his face inside that wide palm.

Those sad cerulean stones gleamed, as though they were ready to fill with sorrow. No. they already were. It radiated inside his blood. They were merely kept dry.

The sons glanced to one another.

And Andrei stood up, his father's upset glance coming to him.

"How many people did you invite?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve?"

"Yes."

And oh so suddenly, that determined soul was flying, heading out into the snow with that handsome crimson overcoat. His brother followed him, and the petit Austrian-Hungarian, and Lilia. Franz remained; Ivan remained, lips sinking at the edges.

He could feel the sections coming loose within his chest, that crux grinded into pulp and left to rot within the aristocrat's emptied palm.

"Where are they going?"

"I don't know."

So the party went into the streets. Andrei walked to the first person he spotted, a woman with a child, hands chained together as though the moment that woman let go, her darling would be lost.

"Excuse me." He began. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Why?" The girl at the woman's side curled behind the woman's skirts.

"My father is throwing a party and none of his idiotic friends came. You can have as much food as you want and stay until the event is done, all under one condition. All you have to do is say hello to Ivan Braginski, and maybe have a short conversation with him; introduce yourself."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Ma'am, I wouldn't lie to save my life. Just go into that mansion over there and tell them Andrei sent you. And if they don't let you in, you tell them I'll kick their asses when I come back. Regardless, you and your daughter will have something to eat tonight."

"Thank you. Are you Andrei?"

"Yes, I am."

"Thank you, Andrei."

"Make sure to thank Ivan as well."

And then that Bolshevik came to the next person, with Ellis, Dmitri and Lilia in a near proximity.

They all began to send out their invitations.

"Excuse me? Do you have something to eat tonight? Excuse me; can we borrow your evening? Excuse me; are you hungry? Excuse me; would you like to attend a dinner party? Just tell the door man that Andrei sent you. That Dmitri sent you. That Ellis sent you. That Lilia sent you. Make sure to introduce yourself to Ivan Braginski."

And within ten minutes, they returned, the dining room full of the ones they had spoken to. The quiet manor was suddenly breathing, and all those happy cells conversed, bringing such a beautiful corpse back to life.

Ivan sat at the head of the table, speaking to all of them, not even concerned with the fact that most of those good people were poor and dressed in shambles. They exchanged words as the easiest of companions and ate with a dear appreciation for kindness that was so rarely seen.

There were poor worn smiles no amount of wealth could purchase. Because so many of them had been starving, to the point where they would give anything for a loaf of bread, for a bowl of soup, for a mere glass of milk. For anything at all.

And as though it was magic, cuisine kept pouring from those kitchen doors as though a grand plantation was kept behind those swinging boundaries. One woman even cried, she was so grateful not to go hungry another hopeless night.

They all asked for seconds, thirds, fourths, sometimes even fifths. As though they were attempting to fill themselves until skin and bone grew plump and clothing was no longer rendered so loose.

The words 'thank you' were repeated in excess, a prayer said to the face of the lord. Water to the soil of tried flowers. Gold to the lonely woman's abused palms.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Спасибо.

Спасибо.

And Ivan sat at the head of that polished table, overlooking all of those faces abundant in relief and joy. Those sapphires drank of the bliss and noise birthed into the air, his once desiccated core brimming over in that rich sentiment. It boiled form his windows, sticking to those pallid lashes and drawing lines upon his snow-hued cheeks.

But there was no mistake made.

Those lips were drenched in their sweet euphoria, their humble victory against loneliness, their enormous gratefulness to that kind-hearted wayward son and his band of soft thieves.

And a woman, a stranger, who sat at his side, took his hand, smiling back. "You're a good man, Ivan. You will never know how wonderful it is to be revived. We were all hungry."

But Ivan did know. He knew exactly what it was to breathe again, to come from his mattress and stay conscious. Finally, the grounded man could fly, and he floated all the way to those high ceilings.

Yet, he did not speak.

He only nodded like a small child with an overwhelming emotion endowed to his eyes.


	25. Chapter 25

Then the happiness had faded, and everyone found themselves back upon the tiles lining that mansion. But Ellis had been rammed into the ground.

Sometimes, the past came flooding back and swallowed her whole. It ate her alive. It chained her ankles to the fencing lining her old home, her childhood. It sunk hands into her chest and tore out her heart. Boiled it until it became deformed stew.

And she sat, the photograph sitting delicately within her palm, eyes in a deluge, mouth protected by the free hand.

It was late.

And it so happened that Andrei suffered from the same brand of insomnia. He roamed about the halls. And within those many twists, he encountered the quiet crying seeping from beneath the young woman's door.

So arrived the knuckles to the oak.

"Ellis…Are you alright?"

There was not an answer. The threshold was cracked, but only partially.

"Can I come in?"

Still nothing.

"I'm going to open the door, alright? Don't be upset if I see you naked."

He moved unto the kernel of that chamber and sat next to the nurse, wrapping arms around her petit form and allowing that chin to her crown; it was becoming a sort of niche.

"What's wrong, Ellis?" Those eyes caught a glimpse of the photograph, a dried and fragile rose petal within the nymph's precious hold. Inside the frozen memoir sat a baby boy, a big wet smile about his lips and a glow projecting from those bright eyes and into the darkened air.

"Who is that?" The inquiry was peaceful.

"His name is Hans. He's my son."

The phrase was torn from the intruder's occupied tongue. "What?"

"Yes. I have a son." That face was wiped of its misery. "Today is his birthday, and he's four years old. I've been trying not to cry all day."

"…What happened?" Andrei's brows immediately tilted.

Ellis murdered the coming anguish. "Someone has to know. This has been a secret far too long. But it's a long story."

"I like long stories."

So Ellis began, gulping back those droplets.

"When I was seventeen years old, I had fallen in love with a poet and a musician. He was wonderful, but part of the lower class. Actually, he had been my father's servant about a year before we began talking. I always hated asking them for anything. So, instead of just requesting chores done, I would become companions with my servants and assist them with chores. I could do half of the things I requested myself. It didn't seem right."

Andrei offered a quick curl.

Ellis continued. "Once my father found out, he was horrified. He sat me down and yelled at me for what felt like an hour. My mother was at his side, crying. And he held her hand so, so softly. They didn't understand that what they had what was I wanted. They loved one another more than anyone else I had ever seen. My parents almost never fought…And I wanted that. I wanted to bring someone strudel when they were busy at work; I wanted y husband to say, 'thank you, Ellis. You're sweet.' And then kiss me on the cheek. I wanted someone to sneak up behind me and wrap their arms around me. My father was the most serious man, but you should have seen him around my mother. They would chase each other throughout the house and play the most ridiculous of games. Like children with crushes. And they loved my brother and I. So much, they couldn't let us make any mistakes. So before I could do anything to ruin my life and the tarnish the family name, I was married off to an aristocrat, and quickly, before anyone could notice the budge in my dress."

"You were pregnant?"

"Yes. I was." The sorrow cleaved the woman's heart into two pieces, a sharp knife. "My parents told me I better not say a God damn word. That whatever the hell was growing in my stomach belonged to my husband and only my husband. I was a virgin and there was no other alternative. And I agreed to it. My lover, Hans, was fired the next day and within a month I was wed. I don't know how they made it happen so quickly, but they did."

Andrei held her a little tighter.

He was answered with a brief sob. "The wedding was hell. And so was the wedding night. He didn't love me, my husband. But how could he? I had just met him a few days before. We didn't know one another. We couldn't. And I wish I never did. I should have run."

A breath.

"I learned quickly that my husband was an alcoholic. Every night, he would come home, pass out, and wake up completely disoriented and manage to crawl to his office the next day. The first time I tried to visit him, to feed him some apple strudel I had made, he told me to get out. To leave him alone; he was busy. And when I didn't, my husband stood up and smacked me on the mouth. The blow was so hard that I fell to the floor. I left after that. I left running."

Silence.

"It was horrifying. And every day, things became worse. Instead of passing out, my husband would beat me when he returned…The pain stopped when I told him I was pregnant." Ellis shook her head. "It should have been obvious. My stomach was getting to be fairly big, and I woke up sick every single morning…Regardless, I gave birth to my son a few months later, and he wasn't even there for it. No one held my hand, no one came when they heard me screaming. When my son was on the floor wailing and I was unconscious, one of the maids finally called a doctor and I woke in my bed with my child in my arms."

Ellis began to cry once again. "He was so beautiful, Andrei. He had this thick black hair and such gorgeous blue eyes. I just held him in my arms and he slept soundly, even though we had both been through hell and back. I sobbed as though I had just seen God. And I named him Hans, after his true father. We had only known each other twenty minutes, and I had never loved anyone else more. Hans was mine, all mine. And he was good…" Those lime green eyes were relieved of their misery. "I was scared out of my mind. I couldn't ruin my son, my beautiful little son. And if my husband even laid _a finger_ on my Hans, I'd kill him in his sleep. I'd tie him to the bed and stab him until he bled to death."

"You're far more tolerant than I am. If I was in the same position, I would have done that before hand."

Ellis placed her gaze upon Andrei's, a sad sort of grin molding her lips. "I probably should have…Anyway, I told my parents about their grandson, and they arrived at my home the moment they received my letter. As soon as my door opened, they ran to my room, where I was still resting, and embraced me. 'Why didn't you tell me you were so close?' My mother asked. 'I would have come in a heartbeat.' And my father inquired, 'Are you feeling alright? Did everything go smoothly? What did you name your son? Can we help with anything?' And I just burst into tears. No one had worried about me for the last seven months, and I had been too angry at my parents to even try and write to them."

A choke.

"But they came as fast as they could, and I let them hold my son. My mother sobbed her whole heart out and my father had tears in his eyes. They told me that he was gorgeous, and apologized because Franz couldn't make it. He had an important exam and would be visiting soon. I was happy then. I knew everything had been forgiven and my family loved me. Even if they were upset and worried sick, they loved me…Then my parents asked me where my husband was. Where I had gotten the bruises on my arms and why I didn't know either of those things. Eventually, I told that my husband was busy with work and I had fallen down the stairs. Knocked myself on a table. Managed to keep my son. That's where the bruises had come from. You could tell that they didn't believe me, but no questions were asked, and the focus when back to Hans."

Ellis took a moment to gather air.

"They wondered why he didn't have a crib. No toys, no clothes, nothing. But they didn't pry. They knew I had been through enough and coming up with lies would only make my condition worse. My parents decided to be happy. Because they loved Hans just as much as I did. A few days later, my brother came and mother and father left. Franz asked me what was wrong. 'Where is your husband?' I didn't answer. But he just kept asking. And eventually, I told him the entire story; all of it. And he just nodded, took me into an embrace. 'It's alright. It will all be alright. We'll figure out something. But there was nothing to be figured out. As far as my husband knew, my son was his, I was has, and everything we had was his."

There was a pause so that sentiment could ebb.

"The beatings started again after Hans was about a month old. Then, every day was the same. He leaves; he come back; he tears Hans from my arms and puts him gently on the floor; I'm beaten; my sons cries; I cry; my husband laughs; I have a new collection of bruises. I have a reason to kill myself."

Andrei gripped Ellis' shoulders, rage boiling inside his stomach. Men who hurt their wives were not men at all. It made blood sear his flesh, but the Bolshevik did not say anything, only drew that starving woman in closer.

"I considered it. But every time I thought of hanging from that oak tree outside or drinking arsenic, I stopped myself. Hans needed me, and I needed Hans. He gave me hope when there was none. I would speak to him and he would giggle, smiling like a ray of sunshine. He would kiss my cheek and leave a sloppy mess on my face. I would play with his tiny feet and he would laugh until he screamed. We spoke to each other in gibberish and his first word was, 'Mama'. That broke my heart…"

Those frames featured that very sentiment.

"I went out and bought him a crib, and I made him clothing. Despite everything that occurred, Hans was a happy baby. We loved one another."

Silence. A bitter hold.

Ellis rested her head against Andrei's chest and wrapped her arms around that wide torso. "Then one day, my husband came to me and said we were getting a divorce. That it was official and I was to leave by next week, or he was going to break my legs and throw me out. I asked why. He said, 'because your tits are too small.' And left. Somehow, he got custody of _my son. My son._ My son that didn't belong to him _in the least_. But the whole world thought Hans was his and not mine. And the whole world thought that I was a lousy wife. And the whole world thought I was just clumsy and kept falling down the stairs. That my black eyes and sore arms were my own doing. Silly Ellis."

"That's _sick._"

"Yes. It is." Another pause. "When I didn't leave, when I wanted to keep my child, I was beaten. I was indeed thrown out, but I suppose I was fortunate because it was only one leg broken. Sobbing in pain and loss and anger, I hobbled into town, where I finally lost consciousness and woke up in a hospital. My leg was bandaged up, and before I was even fully aware of what had happened, I was sobbing. My family rushed in, because someone had recognized me and told them. We all cried. We cried until tears refused to come and then we cried even more after that. They all apologized a thousand times over. Until their throats were dry and their words didn't make sense. Over and over and over. That's all they would say. But I couldn't forgive them. My son was gone. And it was their fault. They sold my happiness to save face. Because of that, I had lost everything. My beautiful little Hans was gone, left at the mercy of the bear, and all I had to show for it was a broken leg and a legion of bruises. Two black eyes I couldn't even see out of. Arms so sore they couldn't move. I still don't forgive them. I can't."

"I don't blame you, Ellis."

The history continued. "When I healed, understandably, I was depressed, and my brother tried constantly to cheer me up, to make me smile. Finally, he said, 'come into work today. Just come work with me. It's not good to sit around and think too often. You can help someone. Come be a nurse for a little while and see how you like it.' So I did. It kept me busy, constantly running back and forth and speaking to patients who had it so much worse than I did. Some of them had even gone through the same things, but they were waiting to die of unfixable diseases and I wasn't. I discovered I had something new to live for. I needed to help others, people like myself who were dealt the wrong hand. People who had cuts and bruises and all sorts of things wrong with them, like I had. People with broken legs and blacks eyes and arms so sore they wouldn't move. Women who came in to have their children without husbands or family or anyone at all. So I trained, and Franz told me everything I needed to know. We studied together. He showed me how to give shots and wrap up casts and how much medicine I should give in certain situations. Here's the morphine; here's the bandages; here's the alcohol you clean the cuts with. Now go save lives."

A pause.

"The nursing took the sting from my memories. I was distracted. I had something more to do than worry about my son. Finally, when Franz proved himself to be one of the greatest doctors in all of Europe, they called him here, to help your father. And he brought me with him. Of course, he asked me first. But it was easy to leave everything behind. The parents I didn't even acknowledge, the man who stepped on me like dirt, the memories. I knew I wouldn't get my son back. Never would I see him again. So why stay? I didn't say good-bye to my mother and father. I didn't even eat dinner with them the night before I left. I was terrified I would look into their eyes and end up folding. See how sorry they were and actually forgive them that time. No. I needed to leave. To go far away and find a new life in St. Petersburg. And I did. I came without a drop of Russian upon my tongue. Franz navigated everywhere because he _could _speak the language, and me following behind him, trying no tot cry."

Andrei only listened.

"Franz knows about six languages. German, French, English, Russian, Hungarian, and Italian. He's always been a prodigy. That's why he's younger than me and already has accomplished twice as much as I have. But I'm not angry with him. He's helped me, and I owe him my entire life. If it wasn't for him, I'd be in Vienna, probably married to another man and still trapped in a kitchen with no one to turn to. Giving birth to another child they would steal from me. But I'm not. I'm here, crying my eyes out because I missed another birthday of his." Lips coiled. "I would give anything to have Hans back. _Anything._" And the strong and beautiful sun flower wilted and fell. Collapsed and turned to nutrients in the soil it took life from.

Andrei held her, rubbing her back, and holding her near. Now his eyes were wet, because he was enraged; enraged that something as stupid class difference resulted in so much misery. Ellis was a mother without a child. There was nothing more _wrong._

"I'm sorry. Your parents were morons. But they loved you. At least you have that."

"_You don't know that!_"

"Of course I do, Ellis. They had to love you. They made you good."

The woman only cried harder, and the half Russian kept her, knowing what she felt. It was the same anguish he harbored at the loss of his mother, after he had tried so very hard.

They had both bled. Bled and lost and wept. Kept sore spots all the others stepped on because they did not know that magenta flesh in the first instance. Andrei missed Natasha. Ellis missed Hans. Neither had family past their siblings. But they had one another.

At least they had that.

"I love you, Ellis."

"Don't you dare." A choke. "You're not allowed to love me."

Andrei stayed silent.

"Why? Why do you have to do such a stupid thing?"

"Because, you're amazing and understanding and beautiful. You can be buried in dirt and still shine like a diamond. You should have all the love in the world. And anyone who is stupid enough to mistreat you should be murdered. You're easy to love. And _I_ love you."

A gasp; a breath; a sob. "I love you too, Andrei. I love you…"

"Are you just saying that?"

"No. I love you. You're strong but in the right way. You're doing what is right, even if it's hard and you've got a heart bigger than your chest, even if you don't show it. You're so good." Her cheek rested upon that collarbone. "And now you know me better than my own family."

"Now I'm yours."

"Yes. You're mine. You better not ruin it, because I'm yours too. But I trust you. And I know you'll be kind to me."

"Of course, Ellis."

They remained together that night, sleeping upon that bed with limbs wrapped around each other. They did not make love, neither did they part. Only remained, genuine adoration shared between them. They kissed one another, and then they slept, an odd relief filling their empty stomachs and taking the cuts from their palms.

"I love you, Andrei."

"I love you too, Ellis."

And from the ashes of tragedy sprouted new beginning.


	26. Chapter 26

A few months passed, and suddenly, winter was subdued by spring and flowers sprung from the earth, which was once so barren. Andrei and Ellis drew nearer, the stems of two blossoms growing together inside that flourishing garden, all while Franz became worried and Dmitri seemed to turn more distant. Of course, he and Andrei were still brothers; they always would be. But when work had devoured their days and all that was left was Sunday, it was difficult for either twin to be near the other, especially with Andrei giving so much time to that pretty young woman.

And Ivan continued to do better, walking a little more each day, trying a little less medicine. He was even allowed outside, where he sat upon the grand steps of his home and allowed the silent tears to drain from his eyes. The happiness boiled from him, and the light engulfed his large form, because he had not been into that plain air for what seemed to be harsh eternity. Finally, those feet broke the door frame, and the man could breathe with a definite ease.

As Dmitri grew nearer to his father, the memories of what home was moved further and further from his sight. There was no inhabitance outside the Braginski estate, and he still had yet to visit his mother's grave, despite his other becoming the constant hassle.

Part of the younger sibling did not want to remember, to look back upon all that tangled loss and poverty and general misery. Dmitri was a different man. Dmitri was no longer a Bolshevik. Dmitri was someone else's son now.

But the elder still came at him, blaring. The red of his veins was loud, utterly charged; Andrei's essence was the most crimson of them all. And he sat with his brother, concerned that his life was not the same consistency.

"Dmitri, are you a communist?"

There were sitting beneath the sun, smoking.

"I don't know, Andrei. All I know is that I'm tired of making God damn soap. At least, wrapping it up…"

"But you know we have to."

"Why, Andrei? Why do we have to do anything?"

"For our mother." The serious brow fell. "Have you forgotten her, Dmitri? The woman who raised you? I still remember her, or is she just 'Natasha' to you?"

"If course she's not _jus_t Natasha! She's my mother!"

They stared at one another.

"No, Dmitri. I don't think she is. You don't come to the meetings, you don't want to work. You don't go visit her grave. Natasha is just a name to you."

It was then that Dmitri extinguished his cigarette upon the steps of that palace and aimed for his brother's head, but missed, almost intentionally. His fist was rolled up in an aggressive ball, and never, not since his childhood, had Dmitri tried to harm Andrei.

So the Bolshevik regarded his sibling with grave eyes and a bottom lip slightly gaping, uncertain if he should fight back or simply stare.

For a moment, he elected the later.

Then the former.

But Andrei was smart enough not to miss, catching his brother upon the nose, bringing out a taste of deep scarlet. The line drifted over those identical lips, the chin, and finally, the concrete while the younger attempted to cease the bleeding with a single palm, pooling over with crimson.

"Good, damn it, Andrei!"

"Don't you fucking start with me! You want a fight, I'll give you one! But don't pussy out and miss, because I promise you, _I' won't_. Go visit your mother's grave. But if you're so adamant to forget the past then I'm not going to speak to you any longer. No brother of mine would cut off his own roots."

Then Andrei had attempted to leave, but was caught before he could truly succeed.

"I'm sorry…" Dmitri had to speak through his hand. "I'll go, but you need to come with me."

"Then we'll go today."

"No. Not today…Father asked me to go outside with him. We're going to take a walk."

"That's going to take all day?"

"No. But it will take a good amount of time."

Again, those neat lines imposed upon Andrei's intense windows. "Let me know when you're ready to be her son again."

"Fine, God damn it! _I'll go._ Just let me tell father before I leave; we'll have to reschedule because you're insisting upon it."

"Then do it."

Andrei went inside, placing another cigarette between his lips.

And Dmitri sat, attempting to stop the bleeding.

Once the bruise and the plans were explained to Ivan, Dmitri took leave with his brother, both walking down those streets and collecting numerous stares. It was not frequent to find two gargantuan twins traveling about that city, identical all except for the marred hands and the soul left inside those lucid windows, those crisp blue crystals.

"…I'm sorry I punched you Dmitri. Does it still hurt?" 

"Yes, Andrei, it does."

"I'm sorry." The younger's cheek was kissed; something Andrei had done since their youth.

It brought back memories of a time when they were silly children and would fight so easily. Natasha put an end to it. She put an end to it quickly.

Once, Andrei had told his brother that he did not like him and proceeded to push him into their humble dirt floor, knocking him right on his ass. Immediately, the younger wailed, attracting the sour attention of that sweet mama bird.

And she flew to her little chick and scooped him from the filth, asking a thousand times over what was wrong. It was only when she turned to Andrei in anger that Dmitri retold that brief occurrence of blatant hate.

The innocent was placed upon the ground, softly, while the inflictor of such strange damage was pulled in by a tightly grasped wrist and struck hard across the cheek.

"What the hell is your problem? You think because someone won't give you your space you can say that you hate them and push them down? I should do that to you every time you get on my nerves, you little shit! How would you like that?"

But Andrei had been knocked to gravity's keep and was sobbing, so afraid; he was curled into a tight knot.

"_You answer me, Andrei!_" The body was dragged through the dirt by that arm. "Speak up!"

"I-I'm sorry!"

"Why are you sorry?" The talon crunched the boy's little wrist. "Get the hell off my floor!"

Andrei indeed got the hell off her floor.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Be-because I was mean…"

"Yes! We don't do that to the ones we love; our family! Because one day, the only one you'll have left is Dmitri, and if you want love, you better _give_ love. He won't care about you if you push him over and say harsh thing to him. Now you apologize before I put outside and take your dinner away!"

So Andrei rose, terrified, and stole his brother into an embrace, still crying, giving an incoherent apology. Dmitri was held almost as though he was a lost relative, a child gone missing and returned numerous years later.

"I love you. Dmitri."

But the twin could not answer, the wound was still sore and his eyes were still raw.

"_I love you!_"

"Dmitri, love your brother."

"I love you too."

"Kiss and make up."

"I'm sorry, Dmitri." And Andrei kissed his brother's cheek.

"It's alright."

They made up.

Then came the present.

"I'm sorry I tried to hit you. I was stupid for thinking you'd let me get away with it. I asked of for it, didn't I?"

A grin. "I suppose you did." But another press. "I'm still sorry. I shouldn't have hurt you…You're my brother. The only one I have."

"Well…It's alright. My nose isn't broken. Just sore."

Then they found their old home, the one left for a brighter kind of living, one without the constant threat of cholera and filth infected snow. No. There were flowers upon the earth now, dandelions peaking from the grass and roses sprouting from all those resurrected bushes.

The flowers Ellis had left were gone. Not only the ones made in winter all those months ago, but the pink blossoms made only a week ago and presented. Andrei told her it was alright to pick flowers, but that glittering little siren wanted to do something special. Anyone could pluck a bloom from the earth, but only she, with her goddess hands, could make one.

The air grew solemn around them, either sibling with their hearts pulsing inside their palms, choices made to harbor all those welling thoughts and untouched truths.

It was heart-wrenching, to see it again. Just as it was the first time, and the next after that, and the next after that. The past was never easy to swallow, a razor blade that just kept getting sharper.

And they stood for a long while, sentences turning to pulp inside their throats and lips desiccating.

"I still miss her."

"Of course, Dmitri. She was a good woman."

That time, neither cried. There were no tears. There no dry wails. Just a respectful silence paid to the woman who had given their bones life and gave her own dinner to attribute to their growth.

They could touch the sky. Not because it was preordained. No. Because their mother had nurtured them with all the adoration within her heart, the sweet love, the tough love, the solemn love, the hard love. But there was not one second that she did not love them with her whole and passionate heart, and had it not been for her, there would have chambers of soil.

Andrei took a hapless flower growing at the side of that worn road and adorned her head stone with it. He would return. And next time, there would be an entire bouquet.

The brothers returned home, the rage bleached from their hearts.

"Спасибо, Andrei."

"Не за что."


	27. Chapter 27

They sat relaxing against one another, the woman lying next to the man beneath that handsome tree, pretty pink blossoms landing upon them, caught within Ellis' raven locks, settling on Andrei's buttons; his sleeves.

All of her curls were unbound, those ringlets kissing her petit hips and a portion of her lover's chest. The nymph relaxed and those crimson stained palms stroked through her ink hued tresses.

They relaxed.

"Ellis, I love you.

"I love you too, Andrei. You're sweet."

A silence.

"We should get married."

The little woman shook.

"Well…Never mind."

"No. I'm sorry. That word always seems to shake me." Ellis kissed her darling's pocket. "Why do you want to marry me?"

"I love you."

"I love you too…But it's only been a few months." Brows shifted. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I'm serious. _I love you._"

Quiet.

"You punched Dmitri the other day."

"He deserved it. And don't change the subject."

A smile upon those plump lips. "You're not serious."

"I'm completely serious. I'm going to rob a jewelry store tonight and get you the nicest piece of metal I can find. And then I'm going to ask you to marry me and we'll ride off on a beautiful white horse and go live in the hills with our six children and their insane uncles."

Ellis laughed. "Cut the bullshit, Andrei."

"I'm not bullshitting! Here, look. We can get started on the six children right now." Andrei puckered his lips and kissed his woman comically.

Then she smacked him.

"God, you're lucky I feel the way I do, or I'd probably beat the hell out of you." She squeezed him tighter. "Listen, if you really want me to marry you, bring me a bracelet. A pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp. That's all. And if you can give me a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp, I'll marry you."

"Why a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp?"

"It's simple. I want the man I marry to propose to me with a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and golden clasp. I don't care what happens after that. I'll wear a paper bag to my wedding as long as I can have that bracelet."

And Andrei thought seriously.

"Alright, Ellis. I'll get you your bracelet. But you have to marry me when I do. Do you promise?"

"I promise. If you get me that bracelet, I'll marry you. And you'll be all mine."

"I'm already yours."

"Then I'll be all yours."

"Then we'll make it official." A kiss.

"I still don't believe you."

"Well, you should, Ellis. That bracelet is going to be yours. And then you're going to be mine, and we're going to live in the hills and have six children."

"Of you say so, Andrei. Just as long as I have my pearls."

Then they sat in peace, and all the calculation began to formulate; Andrei would need a loan. Andrei would need money. Andrei would need a bracelet.

And then Andrei would have his wife.

And then Andrei would have Ellis.

All to himself.

Oh.

Wouldn't that be nice?

The couple remained in solitude, wrapped around one another, bliss shared between them. Andrei's mind was amuck with activity. He would present that wondrous Lorelei with that bracelet. She would be happy.

"I love you, Ellis."

"I love you too, Andrei."

Then came the peace.

Then came the plans.


	28. Chapter 28

Dmitri was sick. And he knew he was sick because he found his very own people terrible. The servants, the peasants, the poor. Lord. He just hated how they spoke so vulgarly, and the only thing inside their mouth was a complaint or in some-most- cases, a speech about how the tsar was a horrible man and how Russia required change.

You heard that word all the time.

Change.

Change.

Change.

Change.

Change.

Yes. The world wanted change.

Let's bellyache about it.

His brother annoyed him the most. Dmitri did not forget who he was, but who he was now and who he was then were utterly different people. And there had never been that filth about him. Never. Dmitri had always been polite; there was not a harsh bone within his body. Never had he complained. Never had he whined.

Dmitri only worked. Anger did not hold him as it did his sibling.

The younger twin did not believe that he used to be associated with such a group, those moaning cockroaches that occasionally burned down a factory or the home of a cruel foreman. Those moaning cockroaches with gasoline all over their hands. Those moaning cockroaches hiding within their filthy garments and their worn shoes. Those cockroaches that ate at the toes of the _clean _Russians.

And the whole time, they say that the others are the roaches, and the rich feed upon the poor, praying upon them, living on their sweat and blood.

The ones without the fires were the roaches, the ones without the bloodied palms and eyes bursting into conflagration.

No.

The ones who behaved well were pests.

Ivan Braginski was not a leach; certainly not.

The only leaches were the mendicants of change.

Oh how they whined, throwing tantrums like three year old children, yelling at buildings and marring St. Petersburg with their propaganda, kissing her with pock marks; their graffiti. It was blatant pornography.

Dmitri found himself to be disgusted.

And he sat before his father, scowling with the hatred swirling around his head like a hurricane.

"Dmitri, what's wrong?"

The trance was broken.

"Oh…Nothing. I'm just thinking of everything twisted in the world."

"Well…How so?"

"The workers. They never stop complaining. Conditions aren't all that bad. At least, not in the spring…"

"Maybe they are. The people are upset for a reason. I'd be upset too if I had to live in shambles after working so hard. You wouldn't find me volunteering."

"Well, maybe if they didn't spend so much time bitching, they could accomplish something."

The other man's brows bent. "You didn't think this way before."

Dmitri did not know what to say.

"You yelled at me once because I said that in the end everything would be alright…Something about 'everything is alright when you have money to buy a happy ending.' You were right then."

Speechless.

"The conditions have to be reasonable, since so many people are upset. It may be irritating, but if such an amount feel something is wrong, then it may very well be wrong."

"How can you say that?"

"Well, I've found it to be true." A soft smile. "There doesn't need to be a revolution, but there does need to a compromise. Don't you think you should be paid more? Both you and Andrei work very hard. Is that why he punched you? Because you said that to him?"

"No. He punched me because I tried to punch him first."

"_Tried?_"

"It was more of a threat, but Andrei doesn't take threats lightly. I should have known better. I never win our fights."

A slight laugh. "Well, regardless, you're entitled to your own opinion. But it's important to understand _why_ someone does something; always why. If you don't know that, you don't know anything. But you already know that, Dmitri. You lived in it. I'm sure you know far better than I do. But in my own opinion, there should be change, just not _violent_ change."

There as that word again.

"Often times, change is violent."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"But I agree…It seems that something has to give. The Bolsheviks are ready to send Russia into flames and birth a new empire from its ashes. That's what I don't like about them. They're too violent. Far too involved. They'd slit their mothers' throats just to see Russia change."

"Well, there always have to be people willing to give their lives for something. There's always an extreme, no matter what." Ivan closed his eyes, that body seeming to show utter exhaustion. "You still love your brother, don't you?"

A gaping pause. "Yes. I do."

"Good. I love Andrei too."

The young man thought, a bit of acid burning within his stomach. His father was right but still, he did not like the Bolsheviks. They were just cockroaches. They would always _be_ cockroaches. Even when they were named Andrei and wore the same face as their brother.

Breakfast arrived, and the working aristocrat ate.


	29. Chapter 29

"Father, I need to ask you a favor."

So it had come to this.

"What is it, Andrei?"

"I need to borrow some money. I'll pay you right back…Every time I get my pay, I'll give you half, and if I forget one month, you're allowed to beat my ass."

"I wouldn't do that to you. I doubt I could, anyway…Why do you need money, Andrei? Have you gotten into some kind of trouble?"

"No. No trouble…Well. Actually."

"What happened?"

"I went and fell in love."

"Oh, you're in deep trouble. With who? Ellis?"

"Yes. With Ellis. She told me she wanted a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp. Then she'll marry me. That's why I need a loan. I'd raise it myself, but those bastards don't give me much of anything, and it would be years before I could get her a truly nice bracelet. But I'll pay you back. Every last rouble."

"That's sweet, Andrei. Did you ask her to marry you yet?"

"Well…I told her that we should get married, and she said I wasn't serious. But, if I _was_ serious, I would bring her a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and golden clasp, and then she'd marry me. Then we can go live in the hills and have six children. That was my idea."

Ivan laughed. "Do you want six children?'

"I want a whole army of children. And then we'll come to your house and have one hell of a Christmas."

More laughter. "Tell you what, Andrei. We'll split the cost of the bracelet on two conditions. First, you better keep your promise and bring me a hoard of grandchildren, and second, you need to ask Franz first, since Ellis' father isn't here."

"Then I'll pay for it myself."

"Please, Andrei. Show Ellis that you're a gentleman. She'll be impressed, and when Franz writes that letter to his family telling them that his big sister is getting married, you'll be happy it's not an angry letter. Please. Don't make her parents panic, even if it _is_ her decision."

"Fine. I'll ask Franz. But even if he says no, I'm still going to marry her. It's not about what they want. It's about Ellis. She's the only one who can say no to me."

"Then you'll be a loyal husband."

"I'll do my best."

Either man thought.

"Well, we should go pick out a bracelet. Don't you think, Andrei? There are numerous jewelry shops around here. It's really just a matter of selecting one."

"Then let's go and find one."

A nod.

"Thank you, father. I appreciate this…"

"Of course. I'd rather you borrow money from me than one of those banks. They're so harsh on their payments."

"Yes…I tried to take out a loan once. They turned me away because I had asked for too much."

"Why did you need a loan?"

"To save my mother."

There was only sympathy within those sapphires. "I see…"

Andrei and Ivan walked that day, the elder wanting to stretch those great limbs and the younger not wishing to make the chauffer drive them about, especially when their legs functioned perfectly well.

Neither had much inside their mouths, having not spoken often. Andrei had spent time with his father, but that time was not in abundance as Dmitri's was, and that odd atmosphere was evident between them. It was tense.

"Andrei, why don't you tell me something about yourself?"

"Нет. Tell me something about you first."

"Why?"

"You probably have more to say."

"Oh…Well." Ivan thought a moment. "I hate my room."

"Why is that?"

"I'm stuck in it all day long. It's a pretty little nest, but being in any one place forever will drive a person mad. Especially me. I feel like a tourist in my own city. Isn't that sad?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. You get to enjoy the beauty of it. If you spend too much time in St. Petersburg, you'll lose your mind. Between the peasants and the nobles and the propaganda and the sadness…I'd rather be in a pretty little nest. I've spent more time outside than in. I wish I could enjoy this place. But it's hard when you see so much ruining it."

"Hmm….Are you sure you and your brother are twins?"

A kind of melancholy was injected into Andrei's eyes. "It didn't use to be that way. Dmitri is changing, but I don't what creature he's becoming. I'm worried about him. We used to be able to read one another's minds. But now, it's all static. Yet, he can still read mine. I'm too predictable as it is."

"Well…You both love one another, don't you?"

"Yes. At least, I do. I still feel bad for clocking him. That must have hurt. If that means anything. I don't feel guilt for socking someone unless I actually like them."

Ivan laughed. "That's how it is usually works, isn't it?"

They came to the jewelry store and the risers were conquered. That young man found a world fraught with women. They stared at him. Flesh thrown into a vat of hungry succubae.

The sirens screamed.

"Hello. Can I help you?" They all inquired.

"I need a pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp."

Then they broke apart, and bracelets were brought back, cushioned by soft palms and ornate in options. They were three, Dark pearls, blaring white pearls, pearls composed of soft cream.

Ellis.

What was Ellis?

The center. Not so light. Not so dark. The cream. The milk.

Andrei inspected that article, checking the clasp-golden, inspecting the pearls – perfection, studying the shine- shimmering.

"This is good." The trinket returned.

"I'll take care of this, Andrei." Ivan was dragged away and the young man's heart flourished within his cheeks. This was it; this was it. Give her the bracelet. Make her your wife. Feed her your heart. Pry hers from her breast. Belong to another. Build a life together.

A life that had sprung from a glittering article of gems.

From a sweet German speaking princess who stole away the half Russian pauper. There little woman who kissed him to find out what those lips tasted like. The pretty muse who abducted him from the soured memories.

Andrei's entire crux pumped through his veins.

His father retuned with a wondrous black box, held beneath elegant white ribbon.

"Thank you, father. I'm indebted to you…"

"Don't concern yourself, Andrei. That's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? What sort of man would I be if I didn't help my son? But don't get too excited. Franz still needs to be asked. Now let's get back before either of those two yell at me."

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course."

And the bandits ran.


	30. Chapter 30

They stood across from one another, the taller silent, his heart screaming; eyes sharp. The other waiting, accusing. Patient but tense.

"Well. What is it, Andrei?"

"I want to marry Ellis."

"You've known her only a few months. You're barely familiar with her, much less- how can you love someone you hardly know?"

"Let me rephrase that. I'm _going_ to marry your sister."

The doctor fell silent.

"My father told me to ask first. But you'd do well to remember that this isn't about you. This isn't about your parents. It's not about mine. It's not even about me. It's about Ellis, and the only person who can tell me it's not been long enough is her. I'm not going to let you refuse _for_ her. I won't let you dictate what _she_ does. It's disgusting enough what all of you forced her into. And I swear if you make her unhappy with your bullshit protocol, I _will _dismember you. Don't you think Ellis has had enough?"

"Andrei, I was fifteen years old when she married. If you want to blame anyone, blame my parents. But before you do so, you should mind your own God damn business. We were _all_ upset with what happened to her. My parents regret it every day of their lives, because they lost their daughter. Ellis won't even speak to them. The closest she's come is _thinking_ about writing a letter, but she never _does._ So don't you dare guilt trip me. _I'm on your side._"

It was Andrei's turn.

"I don't like you. I know you're a communist. But no one can control Ellis. No one. So I'm not going to try and have her disown me as well. Ask her. But you better not get her into trouble. I'm not sure what I'll do to you if she's hurt, but I guarantee you, you'll regret it. I won't. But you will."

Andrei smirked.

"So is that a yes, doctor?"

"It's close enough for you. Go ask my sister for her hand. Go make her happy."

"Thank you, Franz."

"It's not like you gave me a choice."

A smile, and then Andrei ran away.

"Crazy bastard." Franz had whispered to himself.


	31. Chapter 31

Dmitri moved around that city, sick to his stomach, disgust spreading about his veins as a virus, a disease. They inhabited that place in the same way.

He looked into all their eyes, washed their filthy palms with a gaze, studied those rags with a kind of sorry understanding. He had been one of them. He had been a beggar. A worn father, a breaking son. He had been a care taker. He had been destitute.

Once.

Dmitri had been destitute. Once.

Once.

Once…

What did that word even mean?

It was almost as though that life was dichotomous. There was the previous Dmitri, then the present. The prince. The young man dressed in silks. The young man painted in crisp clean colors. The young man appalled by the past and plunging into the future, those opportunities, those riches. The pauper given the crown. The mendicant allowed the robe.

Dmitri's face even appeared nobler.

Those deep wells were sharper, more azure, and full of a freezing flame while the sibling's gaze could defeat winter. The passion of the people has forsaken Dmitri, bled from him and flooded around his ankles, red as his own essence. The sickle had been dropped, the hammer buried in the spring. The memories purged. The Bolshevik dead.

No. He was never a true Bolshevik in the first place.

Never.

Or perhaps once.

No.

Never.

Never.

And now his stomach coiled, revolving around his midsection, dropping into his mouth. Choking him.

It hurt.

The roots taking themselves from the ground.

The tree had fallen. Now it had rotted. Now something else grew from its corpse.

Dmitri did not even know what he was any longer.

But the roots still ached. And those petals, centered on whatever plant that half Russian was, were black as ink and slick as the ice parasitic on the road.

The young man no longer knew what to make of himself.

For the longest time those freezing blue wells bit at themselves. He stood across from the mirror and with every word in his vocabulary; he attempted to label what it was he saw.

But that mind could find nothing.

So he roamed into the streets and felt that metamorphosis take place, regarding the so called insects, hands coming to feelings and body forming into something hideous.

Dmitri did not want to detest them, because no matter how he scrubbed, the past would never be washed from his flesh. His worn hands would never heal. His back would never stop aching from standing so many hours of the day. Natasha would not leave him, for she was a phantom without even attempting to be one.

The rebirth was not clean.

Dmitri was layered in who he was, drowning inside it, attempting to swallow it and only becoming sick as he tried. He could not burn it; he could not drown it; he could not bury it. For it always returned, stronger every single time.

His innards seemed to constantly be at war, heart torn in two.

That was when he grew envious of his brother.

At least Andrei knew who he was. His flesh was worn and red, his hands worn and red, his soul worn and red. And in that entirety, the Bolshevik was proud.

Dmitri curled into himself, saturated in his shame.

The one in such wondrous clothing did not wish to work in that God damn soap factory, to go to bed so late, to turn to a dinner already gone cold. To have only one day. One day for his own palms. That was all.

Because he was not one of them.

Someone caught Dmitri's sleeve, all so suddenly, it broke apart his thoughts.

"Excuse me…Do you have any spare change?"

There was no word within his mouth.

"Please?"

"I'm sorry. I don't have any money with me."

The acid bit at his marrow.

Memories were beaten back. Then the anger.

And feet moved forward.


	32. Chapter 32

Andrei had taken her outside, the little woman dressed up in a fine white gown, wearing cleanly attire himself. Again, that heart smashed against those poor ribs. It always did when that siren was near. Always trying to break Andrei's bones.

Ellis held his hand, grasping at it, holding it near as a fantastic trinket. The skin rough from so many years of making dye. But they were so strong.

"Andrei, what's wrong?"

He was so very tense.

"Andrei…"

"It's nothing." They came to their tree.

Now.

Now.

Dot it now.

Do it now.

Calm down.

Do it now.

_Now. _

"Ellis…" The Bolshevik captured her hands. "I don't know how to do this right, so forgive me if I fuck something up. But I love you…"

"You're shaking."

"I know I am." That pocket was reached into, that elegant container pulled into the dull light of sun set. It came to her grips. The petit thing nearly dropped it.

"Andrei. You didn't."

"Of course I did." Again, those pretty hands were adopted. "Will you marry me?"

Those lips curled, collapsing a bit. Because that sweet Austrian- Hungarian's crux sung, spreading warmth into her cheeks and color all about that alluring face.

"Yes. I will, Andrei."

"Inspect my work first."

"Oh, I don't care about that…I probably would have married you even if you didn't get me this bracelet." She laughed, ecstatic. "I didn't think you were serious. Just a spur of the moment sort of thing." A tear drop. "You're too good."

"Thank you, Ellis. But please open it. Before I have a heart attack."

Mirth. And those precise numerals pulled that glimmering white ribbon from the container, and she found exactly what she had asked for.

A lovely bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp.

Andrei took that string of fat little dollops and pulled it around the woman's delicate wrist.

Then she embraced him.

"Why do you have to do these things to me? I love you so much…" Ellis dragged her darling in even closer, until his heart echoed within her ears, whispering to her, told her all those things Andrei could not possibly articulate. "I love you."

"I love you too, Ellis." Those lengthily arms enveloped her. "Thank you."

But the muse did not speak. She was far too consumed with weeping in joy and kissing at that warmed chest.

Andrei shared his bliss, pressing those lips to what parts of her he could.

"Come on…Come back with me. I'll make you dinner. You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

"No. Not yet."

"Good. Because I haven't eaten yet, either."

"That sounds nice. I'll help you."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

So the two went back to that grand home, and then entered that great area, and neither was capable of speech. The joy possessed their lungs, made their voice boxes foolish. Lifted the edges of their mouths to the bases of their frames exhibiting such euphoria.

And once inside that kitchen, Ellis drifted to the window, watching as the sun drenched that earth in all its petals, embellishing the sky, the clouds, the plants. Russia.

"Andrei…" The whole universe was in her voice. The past, the present, the future. Her mother, her father, her brother, her son. The sadness, the happiness. The incomprehensible sentiment rushing about her veins as wondrous opium.

"Yes, Ellis?"

"I want to…" Ellis trailed off. "I want to make love."

"Then that's what we should do."

Ellis turned to him. "Go to my room. I'll meet you there, alright?"

"Alright. Don't be too long." Andrei simpered. "I'll be waiting."

And Ellis smiled back. "I won't let you go alone for more than a few minutes."

The room had been voided of that new fiancé, and the woman calculated a brief duration for tears. All the hope had brought those green jewels to a boil. Ellis was levitating, using those soft white wings once overrun by tar.

So she floated to her bathroom, and she sprayed herself with fragrance, upon the neck, the stomach, and her thighs. Then Ellis came to her lover.

She found Andrei upon her bed, fingers intertwined about his stomach.

The door closed.

That white dress was unbuttoned.

Andrei rose from that ocean of sheets, to his little doll and melding their lips together, flesh melting, blood rushing, cruxes nearly combusting. Tongues curled around one another, arguing, pushing, bonding.

Their hands traveled about one another, Ellis squeezing at Andrei's bottom and the Bolshevik's settled upon his lover's hips.

Their clothes fell away, making a little pile about the floor. First came the gown, the work shirt, the trousers, either pair of undergarments.

They danced towards the bed, falling upon it, kissing, touching, drawing nearer and nearer. Andrei rolled upon his back; Ellis transferred to his stomach. And for a moment, those orifices separated. She sat up, thighs spread, and sat upon her lover's middle, those muscles twisting beneath her.

Crimson stained palms rested upon her chest, those little mounds fitting perfectly within the folds of his skin.

"Hmm…" Ellis closed her eyes, placing her own hands about her darling's. "I love you, Andrei…"

"I love you too, Ellis. You're beautiful." Thumb circled those ripe nipples. "Why don't you let your hair down? It's too lovely to be kept up in that bun."

A grin. And a mess of gorgeous black tresses released.

"Andrei…" Lips hung a bit, body subdued within the man's touch, sinking into the tug those naughty fingers caused. "Just a little harder."

So he did.

"Ahh…"

Those demure numerals traveled to the in between of those pearly thighs, that wondrous bracelet shimmering, and sought out that little spot just near her opening.

"You don't have to do that."

Fingers sipped inside that crevice.

"Why? Will you do it for me?"

"Of course I will."

"Hmm…" Ellis removed those curious appendages and centered opening before her half Russian's lips. A kiss was allotted. The bride shuddered.

As those overbearing palms sucked upon those hips, Andrei's tongue probed into that wetted tavern.

"Ahh…" That organ sank in deeper. "A-ah!"

Another press. "Your turn." Then a stroke.

"I'm sorry." Her hand overtook that tower, stroking flesh so engrossed with blood, surrounded by a garden of golden curls. Those plump mounds encircled it, that tip coming upon the little woman's red buds. Then the vacuum. Then the reaction.

"Ahh…"

It was a tease.

Then the member was enveloped.

So that pair nipped at one another, sucking, stroking, touching, feeling. Hearts united. Either party was driven mad with the euphoria.

One could tell they were overjoyed to be in other another's arms in such a way, to be in such a close proximity to someone. To the point where souls bounded together.

Ellis even began to tear up, a new beginning finally becoming tangible for her. When she was left alone, that past seemed to haunt her unconditionally, returning every night, smacking her around, infecting her, making those poor eyes soaked.

She wept because her son had been stolen from her arms.

That so much time was wasted while too much pain was inflicted.

But they would always hold her, those sour memories. However, that heart was reborn from the ashes that sorrow had birthed, and love flowed throughout her veins simply as crimson.

"Ahh…Ellis. I want you."

A sudden stop. "Good. I want you too." The petit thing dismounted, only to sit upon that stomach once again, the warmth between her legs causing the young man to lose his fraying mind.

"Ellis."

The message was clear.

That nymph rose, claiming her darling's length and holding it upwards, lowering herself around it, that organ composed of utter stone filling her entirely.

Either moaned loudly.

It began slowly, those anatomies moving together in a gentle sort of motion. Ellis arched her back. Andrei arched his back. Hands rested upon the man's chest. Hands rested upon the woman's hips.

Moans.

Lips gaping.

Names called.

The pace quickened.

The bed shook.

Bodies slammed into one another and the idea of sound traveling was completely ludicrous. The occasional servant passed by, confused, then aware, and ran, laughing. Giggling. How noisy they were. How funny it was.

Then so suddenly, the commotion desiccated, all after a gasp, a whine.

And the pair lied next to one another, falling into a pretty embrace.

"I love you, Ellis."

"I love you too Andrei."

They were out of breath, but still managed to kiss in passion.

That was that, the first they had made love. Either wanted to experience that sensation again, having been too caught up with life to find another.

So, they did.

After coming together another three times, the pair finally lost consciousness.

Goodness. What a way to start.

Six children did not seem so hard to attain.


	33. Chapter 33

The twins sat outside, observing the spring, watching the world, dancing within their circles, seeing the few cars, gathering words upon their tongues.

"What's the matter, Andrei?"

"Nothing. I just have to tell you something."

"Well, what? You killed somebody? You burned something to the ground? You summoned a legion of demons? What?"

"Well…I did all of those things, but that's not important. I was just going to tell you that I'm going to get married."

"_You what?_"

"_I'm going to get married._"

"Who the hell would marry you, Andrei?" Dmitri hit his brother in play. "Really? What did you pay her?"

"A pretty bracelet with shiny pearls and a golden clasp. That's how much it cost."

"Where did you get a bracelet?"

A smile. "Well…I borrowed some money from father. But I'm going to pay him back."

Already knowing who that fortunate woman was, Dmitri simpered. "What did Franz have to say about it?"

"He wasn't all too happy. But I don't care about that." Certain bliss radiated from that hardworking man, whose hands were stained such a bright red. "Do you think Mama would be happy?"

"Yes. She would be. Mama would probably be ecstatic. Then she would give me a hard time because I should be getting married too…I knew this would happen. Look at you. One moment you're telling me that you're just friends and in a few months, you're going to get married." Dmitri shook his head. "You're quick."

Laughter. "Ellis couldn't help herself."

Then the twin smirked. "You better make me an uncle."

"Oh, don't worry about that. We're going to have six children. And you better get them all Christmas presents too, even if you have to steal them."

"I normally wouldn't steal, but for your children…Alright."

A period came of joyous silence, when either thought of family, something so golden and desirable. Now Andrei had his own.

The void Natasha had created was filled, if only partially.

Dmitri couldn't help his jealousy. But it was light.

White Jealousy.

Because he was truly happy for his sibling.

"I'm guessing you haven't set the date yet."

"No. There's no need to rush anything. I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

"Well, that's true. I have to admit, I am surprised. It's only been about five months, hasn't it?"

"Yes. But that's alright. Once I want something, I have to go out and get it. If I waited another five months, I'd probably lose my mind."

Another playful swat. "I swear, Andrei. Your rashness will be the death of you. You took all mine in the womb."

And a reprimand in return.

Then time for thought deep as abyss.

"You seem ten years older."

"So do you. You've always been older than me, Dmitri."

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? I'm younger than you are."

"No, you're not." Andrei stood up, a cigarette within his mouth and match struck to set it a flame. "I have to go visit mother. I still have to tell her."

"She probably knows already."

"I know, but still…It's important to me." A drag. "I'll be back soon. Do you want to come with me?"

"No. I should probably go talk to Papa. I said I would visit him today."

"_What?_"

"What? What's wrong?"

"You said, 'Papa'."

Dmitri did not say anything,

"You better be careful before you get brainwashed."

"He's not _brainwashing_ me."

"No. He doesn't need to. You're doing a fine job yourself."

The brothers separated.

Andrei walked a while to get that sad little area, with the peasants and beggars and workers who had lost hands in factories and bled for meager pay. It brought him back, to see such travesties. This was why he was a Bolshevik.

There was shame because he lived in such a fine home.

Andrei should be here, amongst his people.

The grave was located.

A moment of silence was gathered before word scraped past that nervous thought. It was almost as though she was alive, waiting for Andrei's confession. Because he had done something terrible, but the mother knew nothing of his felony. Always, it was something to send conscious into stomach acid.

"I'm getting married."

The tension dissipated.

"…To the woman I brought with me earlier. She makes you paper flowers." A pause. "You're going to have six grand children, too. All I have to do now is find out a way to live in the hills."

All so suddenly, the air became warm, the scent of flowers sweet, and peace spread about the moment. Andrei could feel arms around his midsection, where his mother used to fit, and a happiness conquered him; it was not his own. Andrei could feel her pride. He could feel her joy. He could simply feel _her_, holding him as though he had returned from a few days' absence, when she was still so alive and full of flame.

A kiss landed upon his cheek, and that whole body felt warmth it had not held for entire mouths.

Andrei stayed a very long time, relishing in that gone and familiar feeling. A tea kettle gone unused, but finally set to a grand boil. He was not the same without that flare beneath him, making him work, causing him to function. The bliss spread to his cheeks like wine, and that face became something pink and alive.

Look. He was breathing.

Before, only Ellis could make those lungs inflate.

Andrei finally left when the sentiment had fled, dissipated and ephemeral. Only fleeting. Only temporary.

But that was alright.

He had gained the woman's approval.

That was all the contentment he required.

The man came home with his heart beating.


	34. Chapter 34

Dmitri quit his job.

It was so spontaneous even he could not believe it.

But it was reality and now that young man was unemployed.

Andrei went to work alone that morning, somewhat late. He did not fetch his brother, for going to fetch Dmitri would send even more of those precious minutes down the drain. Not even a mere second could be burned foolishly. _Not even a second._ Dmitri knew what he was to do. It had been done a thousand times before. Better to have one late than either.

Besides, Andrei had dye to create.

He had hands to mar.

The entire day, that Bolshevik came to check on his sibling, but every time, he found a young woman wrapping up those bars of soap and placing them in boxes, being so careful. One could tell she had only just started, perhaps a week ago. Perhaps three days ago. Perhaps yesterday.

Finally, he approached her.

"Excuse me, have you just started here?"

"Oh?" The girl turned around. "Yes, it's my first day here."

The point was captured. "Have you seen a man named Dmitri? He's my twin brother."

"No. I haven't seen him. I would probably confuse the both of you, but you're the only person I've seen today that looks like you…I suppose. I'll let you know if he shows up. Where do you work?"

"Dyes."

"Over there?"

"Да."

"Alright."

"Thank you."

The day passed with no appearance of that brother. Immediately, the elder was fraught with concern. Had he gotten sick? Dmitri would certainly lose his job now. Then what would occur? How would they possibly raise the money now? The coffin would not fall from the clouds. God was never so generous. Had he forgotten? Was he simply drunk the last several weeks? Where had his dutiful brother gone? The one who would never miss work, even when ill and suffering through wild boughs of coughing. The one who would never complain of the strain against his back, the cuts upon his hands and finger blades. The one who would not stop, even when his heart broke within that cavity and fell against the unkind floor.

So what would cease his feet? What kept him from the front door?

Andrei went home and attempted to find out.

He knocked upon his brother's threshold.

"Dmitri…"

The door opened.

The felon was found asleep, face burrowing into a soft and ornate pillow.

"Dmitri!"

"Hmm?" The lazy thing awoke.

"Why weren't you at work today?"

There was not an answer.

"_Why weren't you at work today, Dmitri?_ Were you sick?"

"No, mother. I quit my job."

"You _what?_"

Dmitri rose. "_I quit my job._"

"Why the _hell_ would you quit your job? It's not like you have anything better to do! For God's sake, Dmitri, you're twenty-two _fucking_ years old! What are you going to do now? Become an alcoholic?"

"Shut the hell up, Andrei! You're not in charge of me! Maybe I'm really God damn tired of packaging fucking soap!"

"You little shit! My hands are dyed red and you're complaining about having to package soap? What about our mother? What about her? I'm going to buy her a coffin myself? I already have to pay back that old man for Ellis' bracelet!"

"No one asked you to get married!"

"No one asked you to quit your job! Dmitri, this was _your_ idea! You're the one who wanted to live here to raise the money, and then you quit your job? You've been poisoned! All this money had made you insane!"

"You're the one who's insane! You're so obsessed with 'the cause!' You can't even see three steps in front of you! It's all just communism! Don't you understand that your little revolution isn't going to happen? Grow the hell up, Andrei!"

"Grow the hell up? _You grow the hell up!_ I didn't just quit my God damn job for no particular reason! Real men have jobs, Dmitri! They don't stop just because they're 'tired'! I'm tired every day of my life, but I'm still employed! What about Mama? The woman who raised you? After everything she's done, you're going to quit your job and leave it all to me? She deserves a decent burial, Dmitri!"

"She's fucking dead, Andrei! You're not going to bring her back, so just let it go!"

Then came the quiet before the storm. They were caught in the eye of the hurricane, when entire lives were revolving around them and the whole world was silent. Then the wind sucked the siblings in.

Andrei tore his brother form the grand ocean of marred sheets, kicking, punching, biting, screaming. "She was all you and I had!" In that barrage, Dmitri fell to the floor. "_She was all we had!_"

The younger attacked the elder, returning as a vindictive demon set upon his revenge. Blows were set, firsts to the chest, the skull. Kicks to the middle. Kicks to the knees. Kicks wherever they could land. Wherever pain could be inflicted. Dmitri got Andrei. Andrei got Dmitri. Bruises spattered upon them as paint spilling haphazardly. Red exploding. Purple bursting. Black devouring either of their eyes. Aching sores of a sallow hue. Cuts. Near fractures.

It ended when the Bolshevik launched his brother into a wall, writhing from a hot assault to the ribs.

He always won.

Always.

Always.

Always.

Dmitri hollered in pain.

"Get yourself another job." The blood was wiped from Andrei's lips, where he was afflicted by the violence of his dear brother. "Or I won't speak to you again. You need to remember who you are." Breath was short, and Andrei sat upon that twisting cluster of wrinkled sheets. "I can't remember for you."

Nothing could leave those blood engrossed lips. Not even a moan of agony. Those pristine gazes only hooked to the one who had inflicted that broken nature. It truly hurt, now that they had stopped.

"Do you really mean that? Do you hate me, Andrei?"

"No, Dmitri. I love you. I just hate the person you're becoming."

Again, either was thrust into solitude. The winner abandoned the loser, after dropping him into that gaping well of discomfort. Dmitri churned, those ribs screaming, flesh baptized in blood. He was uncertain if it was his own or the essence of his once beloved sibling.

They were twins. Once so close…

For Christ's sake, they shared the same womb at the very same time. They were born at the same time. They were taught at the same time. They worked at the same time. Hell, they even fought at the same time.

And now Andrei was determined to say that they were no longer brothers. Just after kicking him in the ribs.

What had happened?

How far had they strayed?

Andrei was too much of a constant.

Dmitri slept against the wall.


	35. Chapter 35

Ellis rested upon his chest, curled around him as a kitten to a warmed blanket. She kissed him, rubbing that still sore collar.

It had been merely a day. Ellis had not seen Andrei wearing those proud battle scars, those marks against the canvas.

"My poor baby…" Another honeyed press. "My poor baby."

"I'm not a baby."

"Yes you are. You're a whole year younger than I am."

"It's _only _a year."

"Yes, but women are always more mature. That makes me twenty-seven in man years."

Andrei only sighed.

"Oh, shut up. Tell me what's wrong, since we're both men. Maybe I can give you some of my twenty-seven year old man advice."

"You're so strange."

"I know…" The pair drew nearer in proximity. "What happened? Who hurt my baby that way?"

"I'm not your baby."

"You're my baby."

" Нет."

"Да. You're my baby. And you're all mine and I love you. So you better stop fighting with me or else I'll give you another black eye. I am five years older than you, after all."

"So are you a man now?"

"Um…Will you marry me if I'm a man?"

"God no."

"Then I'm not a man. You're more important to me." Kiss. "Please, love. Tell me what happened."

"Dmitri and I got into a fight. He quit his job."

"He _what?_ Oh, Andrei. Why would he do such a thing?"

"Dmitri said he was tired. Then we started fighting and it all went downhill from there. You should have seen what I did to him."

"Andrei…" Another stamp to the young man's pallid chest. "Have you two made up?"

"No. Not yet. I told him I would never speak to him again unless he got another job. We still have to give our mother a decent grave. It will take me an eternity if I don't have any help. I already owe my father money."

"Why is that? Is it my bracelet?"

"Yes, darling. It is."

"Well…" A sigh. "Do you want it back? I can't take it if it's going to get you into trouble, Andrei."

"No, Ellis. It's yours. You need some nice jewelry." Andrei tugged his little woman in closer. "I can't give you something and then take it back. That's not right."

"Hmm…" The woman closed her eyes. "You're sweet, Andrei."

Then there was tranquility, wrought with consideration.

"Ellis, do you want marry me?"

"Of course I do! You're so good. You're focused and responsible and you've got a lot of honor in you. That's all the great qualities of a man. A good man, anyway." Lips to the neck. "I didn't want to get married again after the first time. But…I'm not frightened of you. I know that you're going to be sweet to me, and we'll support one another. We'll fight sometimes. It can't be perfect. But you aren't going to hurt me." Touch. "You're tough but you're kind."

"Thank you, Ellis."

Silence.

"…Can I ask you something?"

"Well. That depends. What are you going to ask about?" That petit Lorelei allowed her palm to her lover's neck. "Is it something sad?"

"Yes."

"You can…I suppose. Just promise you won't make me cry."

"I'll try not to." A pause. "How can you go on the way you do?"

"You mean letting go of the past?"

"Yes."

"Well, Andrei, how do you let go of the past? You just have to…I think of Hans frequently. And my family. Christmas is especially hard, because they come roaring back. But I have to swallow the fact that it happened and now it's over and this is my life. There are times that I pray to see my son again. Because the past just burns like fire. But then there are times when I'm numb. Almost as though the years that have passed are part of a life that occurred a thousand years ago. There's such a divide between the person I am now and the person I was then. I look back on it like it was something I read in a book, or a story I heard a long, long time ago. Then there's times when I can't believe it's happened to me. Like this whole thing is a dream and I'll wake up tomorrow in Vienna, a girl of seventeen again. Isn't that how you feel sometimes? I know it's only been a few months, but things have changed so drastically from then to now, haven't they?"

"Yes. They have. Sometimes I can't believe that my mother is gone. Neither can Dmitri, apparently. He's forgotten who he is."

"I don't think he's forgotten who he is. He's just become a different person."

"That's not much better."

"No. But maybe that's _why_ he's changed. He wants to forget who he is, but the past is so heavy. I think Dmitri wants to move on."

"It's possible to move on without forgetting."

"Some people want to forget. I sure as hell wish I could."

"Hmm." The bruised man only huddled in nearer. "Maybe I shouldn't be so upset. But he's the one who wanted to rebury her. Now he's left it all to me. What am I supposed to think? It's not alright. And the reason we're in this stupid house is thanks to him."

"It is unfair, Andrei. But you've made your point. Try to make up with him. He's the only brother you've got, and when it really comes down to it, you love one another. Even if you're upset at the moment, you'll always be siblings."

Silence.

"I'm going to sleep, love. I hope your bruises heal up. If not, I know what you need." Arms came around that neck and those plump mounds so composed of sugar drowned Andrei's cheek. "Good night."

"Good, night, Sweetheart. Thank you."

"Не за что."


	36. Chapter 36

The fire enveloped the sky. The darkness shook. The flames licked the air. The Bolsheviks watched that tower fall to ash. The same tower that held so many of them as a prison. The same tower that created so many cheap goods within. The same tower that held so much plastic value, and melted as iron to scalding magma.

They watched a moment, admiring their work. Admiring their gorgeous plumes of destruction, their scarlet flames scarring the very stars. The silence. The crackling of the embers. The whole world burning. Communist towers eating Russia alive.

"We should go."

"Yes. We should. Good work, comrades!"

All those devoted men scattered- roaches exposed to the sun's glory. The one with the black eye scurried to his father's pretty hole.

The next morning was hell.

"What the _fuck_ did you do, Andrei? I saw you last night, and then I hear your group of _rats_ burns down a whole God damn building! I know that was you. You and your little revolutionaries! What the hell are you trying to prove?"

Andrei smacked his brother square in the mouth.

"Have you gotten another job yet?"

"That doesn't-"

"_Have you gotten another job yet?_"

"No."

"Then don't you speak to me, you traitor. No brother of mine would quit his job. You were lucky to have a job at all. Do you not realize that there are men and women _begging _for work and you just gave up your salary because you were 'tired'? How sad for you, Dmitri. Our father's pocket book has you blind. Now get out of my ear. I have better things to do."

As the elder walked from the younger, the younger took to his weapons.

"I'll-I'll report you!"

"Excuse me?"

"_I'll report you_, Andrei."

The communist's blood boiled.

"You wouldn't _dare_, Dmitri. I'm your _blood._ I may not be your brother, but I am your blood. I'm all you have. I'm the one you were raised with. I'm the one who's pushed you over and picked you up and listened to every last word you had to say. I'm your _family_. And because _I'm_ something that you _used_ to be, you're going to turn me in and have me _killed?_" Andrei shook his head. "I pray you don't. Destroying your own blood is the worst mistake you'll ever make."

An intense form of quiet.

"I'm sorry, Andrei."

Yet, the void.

"I'm sorry…"

Dmitri had realized how wrong he was.

Bolshevik or not, the opposite was his brother_._ They were made of the same components. The bones, the marrow, the veins. To destroy Andrei would be to destroy himself.

One could not live without the other.

They were puzzle pieces. Light and dark. Good and bad. Life and death, yin and yang.

"I'm sorry, Andrei…"

"It's alright." And the other looked to the guidance of the tiles. "It's alright, Dmitri."

"I'll get another job. I just needed to do something else. I hate that factory. I hate it and all of its bad memories. I just…" A gasp. A sigh. A thought. "I just need to move on now. I just need a break."

"I understand. I wish you would have told me first, but I understand…Can we make up yet? I hate fighting with you. I never win."

"Andrei, you always win."

"No…No one wins. We just get beaten and bruised."

The tranquility arrived, and either sibling embraced one another.

"I'm sorry, Dmitri."

"It's alright, Andrei."

And the pair that once fought with such conviction emptied their transgressions; either man could be brothers again, so long as promises were kept. But at the very tick, it was all resolved, and the hatred dissipated as smoke into the sky.


	37. Chapter 37

Those marred digits ran through that grand black cascade, twirling locks around those knuckles, those joints; Andrei gave a light tug, receiving a complaint.

"Hey…"

"I'm sorry, Ellis." A kiss to that ink-black crown. "Why don't you ever wear your hair down? It's so pretty."

"It always gets in the way." That nude back leaned into that sugared space Andrei had made, arms overtaking her. That anatomy melded into a seat. "I want to play my violin."

"Then go play it."

Ellis tried to get up, but was only pulled into that warm figure and captured, kept a hostage and drowned in a deluge of presses. The muse screamed, kicking those bare legs and attempting to claim her freedom.

Their lips touched and either laughed, relaxing.

"I can't get anything down with you around."

"That's why you love me, isn't it?" Lips swallowed that Austrian-Hungarian whole.

"Yes." Her palms touched to his chest. "You're naked."

"So are you."

"…_You're naked._"

"Yes I am."

"We're touching."

"Yes we are." Andrei laughed at his doll. "Is that alright?"

"Of course."

Their muscles grew limp, at ease, happiness flowing from them as radiation from the sun. They were harmonious together; a garden built within the soil of hardship and tangled affection.

Hands searched through the woman's ringlets.

The quiet seeped in.

Ellis heard that silence.

"Andrei, do you think I should write to my parents? To tell them we're getting married?"

"Well, I told my mother."

"You did? What did she say?"

"She was happy…" Those sapphires were lidded, blond lashes kissing. "I think mama likes you, Ellis."

"I hope so. Perhaps I should make her more flowers. She likes them, doesn't she?"

"My mother loved flowers. She would have us pick them and put them in the house during the spring. I think, sometimes, she secretly wished we were girls."

Ellis murdered her bliss. "Well, that's alright. I think every woman wants a little girl…Did you truly pick flowers?"

"Yes. Only real men pick flowers. They make soap too. And because they pick flowers and make soap, they smell like perfume."

"I like how you smell. It's nice." A smile upon Andrei's collar. "Do I smell bad? Like throw-up and sterilizer?"

"No, Ellis. You smell good. Did you bathe yet?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why wasn't I invited?"

"You were at work, Любовь."

"Well…Did you go to the hospital today?"

"Only for an hour…You know, your father is doing great, Andrei. He doesn't need so much maintenance any longer. Franz and I only give him medicine once every two weeks now." Ellis kissed her lover's chest. "I told him he doesn't need to pay me so much, but Mr. Braginski said that Franz and I deserved it for making him feel so much better. If he stays like this, he might even go back to work.

"Back to work?"

"Да. Back to work. However, we don't want him to become too stressed and fall ill again. So it will be a little while before that can occur, but we're definitely on the right track."

"Do you know what the disease is yet?"

"No…But I have a theory."

"What is that?"

"His heart was broken. A person can do a lot to themselves mentally. I think it was very hard for him to have no one for so long. Mr. Braginski probably had an illness for a short while, but the depression mixed with the symptoms held on longer than the actual virus."

"Well, that seems possible. It's good that he's feeling better…" Andrei's brows dented. "Dmitri and I will get him into trouble."

"Why do you say that?"

"Those stuck up aristocrats seem to dislike bastard children, don't they?"

"Those stuck up aristocrats don't like anything. It will be scandalous, for a while. But then they'll all get bored and move on to something else. They always do. I can remember my parents gossiping about something stupid every once in a while. But they never kept the same interest for very long."

"I see."

"You could even say that you were his long-lost son. It's not necessarily a lie."

"No…But how do you lose something you never even knew you had? That's alright. If he doesn't want us around any longer, we'll just leave. Dmitri and I have two homes."

"Of course he wants you. Mr. Braginski loves you, Andrei. I don't think he would trade his sons for anything. He let you remain here in the first place, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried about myself. I'm more concerned about him."

"Well…You don't have to worry about anything at all. Mr. Braginski is too kind to be in any real trouble."

"I suppose so."

Relaxation.

"I'm going to sleep, darling."

"I am too…" Ellis lidded her vision, laughing. "We end a lot of nights this way."

"Yes, we do."

And either fell unconscious.


	38. Chapter 38

"An invitation from the tsar?" Franz's soft voice rang about the air. "Is he having a party?"

"I believe so." Ivan had those reading glasses slipping upon his nose, those sapphires struggling with such ludicrous vigor to focus. "Yes. In a few weeks from now. I had honestly thought he had forgotten about me."

"Are you friends with Tsar Nicholas?" Dmitri placed his quandary politely.

"Yes, I was…But we haven't spoken in quite a while."

"Well, are you going?" Ellis wore a petit smile. "May I come with you?"

"It says I can bring any guests I like. Well…Maybe I'll send you all in my place."

"Why?" Andrei.

"I hate those stupid parties. I have to bathe and look nice and even small good. How can they ask so much of me? A poor sick man having to look presentable. It's too cruel."

Franz allowed a morsel of joy from his lips. "Mr. Braginski, you've been getting better with each passing day. You're hardly sick anymore."

"They don't know that." Ivan collapsed upon that pillow. "I want some vodka."

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know if you're ready for vodka."

"Oh, Franz. Lighten up. He's a poor sick man. Let him have some vodka. Just look at him." Andrei motioned towards his father, who had his hand poised dramatically over his eyes, a child suffering of a faux death. "That man needs to be drunk."

"Oh, the agony of sobriety…" The Russian whined. "Whatever can satiate this misery other than that sweet nectar?" An obnoxious gasp. "Oh-my life. Such agony-"

"I'm sorry. You simply can't drink your breakfast. Perhaps you can have some vodka later today. We'll see how you're feeling. And behaving."

"How well do I have to behave?"

"You have to be an angel."

"Oh, then forget it. I'd rather be terrible and steal the vodka. How about a few cigarettes too?"

"Dmitri and I have cigarettes." Andrei was smiling, that little devil's smile.

"I'm certain you do."

Then the other party drifted into that comfortable silence.

"Would you mind if I borrowed that invitation?" That Bolshevik's clockwork was winding. "I'd like to look at it."

"Certainly." The card was given to the elder twin. "But please return it."

"Oh, of course. I don't lose anything."

He was up to something.

The thoughts swelled around him as a fire to an innocent forest.

They all tasted those wild flames.

It burned to the bones.

Goodness, how right they were.

Andrei appeared at that meeting deep into the night, coming with that handsome white invitation embellished within all that golden lettering, print wrapping around it as a grand fur coat in the center of a terrible winter.

Oh, how precious.

And that handsome white invitation was set before those men, a damsel in distress crowded by hungry dragons. They rook it with their filthy hands, reading it over, studying it, dissecting it with a gaze.

"My father got this invitation today. It's from the tsar himself."

Interested quiet.

"I would assume he's going to arrive there. After all, it is his celebration. It seems like a wonderful opportunity, don't you think?"

Clamor.

"Oh, Andrei. I knew it was a good idea to keep you around. When we found out about your father, we were a little reluctant, but look. We can move forward."

"But we _are_ moving forward comrades." Andrei thought of the progress, and then he thought of the ash and ruins. "Has anyone been caught yet? We did burn down an entire factory last week."

"Well…No. Victor got himself in trouble, but luckily, he found a way out of it. Has anyone else run into any problems?"

A unanimous "No."

"Хорошо."

Then came the wide pause.

"So, what do we do?"

"We kill the tsar."

The clockwork, again. "It seems convenient." The marred hands of a Bolshevik held that once clean parchment. "He's not throwing the damn thing in one of those palaces. It seems as though it's inside a hall; A ballroom."

"They're playing on our field."

"There are still going to be guards everywhere."

"Well, of course."

Thought.

"Can you bring one of us, Andrei?"

"I'm certain I could. Who's aged around twenty? I'll tell him that we're friends. That we met at work. But I'm not sure how these things function. It could be noble blood only."

"Well, let's just pick someone now. Who's around twenty years old?"

It was Lev who raised his hand, a young man with darkened hair and cheek bones punching from his visage. His lips were thin; his eyes were dark as ink, and his brows were serious. Utterly serious.

Certainly, he would not mar plans. That expression was too difficult to label.

Lev held a poker face.

"Alright. You work at soap factory now, Lev. You package the soap when it comes off the line. Then you bring the boxes to the trucks. That's why your hands are so beaten up. We met a long while ago, and we see one another every day on the way to work, but you're too busy for friends. However, you wanted so badly to meet the tsar, you took that night to yourself, and you're wearing your greatest outfit."

"I have no nice clothing."

"That's why you'll borrow some from me. But they won't know that."

"Where will we keep our guns?"

An impish smile. "We'll hide them in our clothing."

"No one will notice that?"

"Not if we do this correctly. Just as long as we do our jobs right, this should be simple."

"We'll have to be incredibly careful."

"Of course."

A silence.

Lev spoke. "I'd give anything to see a bullet in that bastard's head. I don't even care if I get shot afterwards. Just as long as he's bleeding out. Tsar Nicholas will bleed for Russia."

"Just as we have been."

"Да. Just as we have been."

So the rats chewed at their wire cages.

Finally, a hole was made.


	39. Chapter 39

Andrei sat across from his father, eating from that sweet porcelain plate. There was a little grin strewn so recklessly about Ivan Braginski's face, that kind man seeming to radiate within his bliss.

"Thank you for coming to visit me, Andrei."

The prodigal son had well remained prodigal.

"Of course, father. Thank you, for everything." Andrei removed a few roubles from his pockets, half his salary for that week. "This is for Ellis' bracelet." The currency was taken. "I'm sorry I haven't been…Around." A bite taken. "I've been angry, but I'm feeling better now. For a while, I didn't want to be near you. But I can see now that what's happened truly isn't your fault. I'm not so furious anymore. I still miss my mother; however, I'm calmer now. And I want to thank you for all you've done. It's overdue, bur thank you. You're a kind man, and I'm sorry I was too upset to see that." Andrei paused for thought. "Thank you for letting my brother and me stay here, and thank you for helping me with Ellis' bracelet. I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you." Andrei's gaze cast to the tiles. "I know a lot of people in my situation usually don't meet their fathers, but I'm happy I got to meet mine." Sights met. "I'm sorry if I ever hurt your feelings."

The father managed to smile. "That was out of the blue."

And then the son. "I know. But it's something that I needed to say."

"Well, thank you, Andrei, I'm glad you did." The roubles were handed back. "Here; you need this more than I do."

But they were not accepted. "You already made a deal with me, sir. That money is yours. I'm worth nothing if I can't keep a promise."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Completely."

Ivan sighed. "You let me know if you change your mind, Andrei." The elder simpered, again. "You really do look like your brother. Are you Dmitri pretending to be Andrei?"

"Nope. I'm Andrei." Those hands were shown.

"Will you forgive me when I get bother of you mixed up?" Those mounds coiled. "I'm sorry, but it's hard for me. You two look exactly the same."

Andrei laughed. "I can find it in my heart, I think. You're not the first person who has trouble telling us apart. When Dmitri worked with me, our co-workers would get us confused quite frequently. He would make friends and they would wave to me, thinking I was my brother. So these random people would say hello to me and I would say hello back."

"Would they have entire conversations with you?"

"Sometimes. Eventually, we began to simply tell people we were twins, so they wouldn't be so lost. Some of them didn't believe us, but they did when they saw us together." A sort of sadness enveloped that expression. "I miss my brother."

"He's changed, hasn't he?"

"Yes. I think he's forgotten how hard life is when you don't have a nice house and someone to support you. When the water pipes freeze up in the winter and dirty snow is the only thing left. When there's hardly enough food to eat. Those years made us who we are, and Dmitri doesn't want to even glace back at them. There were hard, but there were a lot of good memories inside them. The only thing I would change is my mother's fate. I truly loved her. It breaks my heart to think Dmitri doesn't feel the same way."

"He does. I would watch him come in here and begin speaking of the most normal of things and he would still tear up. You're twins, bit you're not the same. Not exactly. There are a thousand different ways to deal with loss. Give your brother some time. I think you'll find he's still the same Dmitri, just not at this second."

Andrei nodded. "I can understand that. I just hope you're right."

Tranquility.

Then came the inquiry. "Father, can I go to that party?"

"Of course you can, Andrei."

"And may I bring a friend with me? His name is Lev. We met at the soap factory."

"Yes, you may. Do you have a lot of friends, Andrei?"

"No. Not really. But Lev is nice. He's very serious, but he's a good man."

"I'd like to meet him." A pleasant mold, lips pulling at their edges.

"Well, I don't know if you'll like him at first, but as I said, he's a good man. Lev grows on you." Those orbs spoke. "Спасибо, father."

"Of course, Andrei. Whatever you like."

A nod and that invitation passed back to the owner.

"Thank you." That battered parchment was set n display, no questions asked about it's less than presentable condition, that poor milky flesh dented and torn by those Bolsheviks. "I know this may be an odd thing to say, but I'd like you to know that I love you. You don't need to love me back, but just know that I love you, Andrei."

"Thank you…I appreciate that." The air became genuine and the activist felt terrible for his lies. But they were an absolute necessity. Without those mangled untruths, coiling about that poor stomach, there would be no revolution. There would be no change. There would only be Russia, coughing, choking, hacking, going into seizures and finally crumbling, that beautiful empire buried beneath the sea.

Those lies were for Russia.

Those lies were for the people.

Those lies would buy the next generation's hope.

"Thank you, Father."


	40. Chapter 40

"What are you going to do, Andrei?" Ellis was smoking a cigarette, either just having finished making move, that dark black ocean of tresses sitting upon that man's chest. Again, touch filtered thought that ink-washed wonderland.

"Who says I'm going to do anything?"

"You do, Love. It's written all over you."

"Where?" Those nude hips pushed into Ellis' backside. "Where did you read it?"

"Oh stop. You're so dirty." A playful smack and then a kiss fraught with the woman's affection.

"You still love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do." That sugared press sent that poor man's heart into detonation. Ellis caught his nipple.

"Darling, we just finished."

"_You're_ tired?" The nurse collapsed. "Oh God. He's cheating on me. It was over before it even started. Whatever will I do now?" The bracelet was torn away, held with a certain and faux disgust. "I don't want this anymore. Take it back."

"Ellis-"

"Take it back, you _whore._"

"I wouldn't cheat on you, love. I'm just tired."

"Alright…Well, tell me what you're going to do. What building are you going to knock over?"

"It's a secret."

Ellis bit her darling.

"Ow! Ellis."

"I'll draw blood next time."

"Ellis-"

Teeth biting that flesh, only briefly.

"_Ellis!_"

"What? Tell me. I'll rip off your nipple."

"Bullshit."

"You want to try me?"

"No."

"So tell me."

"Ellis, I can't."

"_Elllisss._" The woman whined. "_I caaan't._"

"Isn't this the part where you tear off my nipple?"

The Austrian-Hungarian kissed that Bolshevik, laughing. There was so much adoration for that man, but the muse would be a liar if she said she never worried for him. Some nights that handsome half Russian would return to her bedroom with dirt upon his clothes, smelling of hot asphalt. Those sullied articles would peel form his body and he would lie with her.

Sometimes Andrei smelled of flowers.

Sometime she smelled of gun powder.

Sometimes he smelled of nothing at all.

But he awoke every morning smelling of her.

The German speaking doll loved the dirty looks her brother cast to her. To her fiancé. The whole world would hear them. And that heart flourished in pride. Because the holder had not been joyous in what was eternity.

Of course she worried.

That loyal worker belonged to her wholly.

"Andrei." Her voice came out malleable. "Please. So I don't lose my mind, concerned about you."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine."

"No."

"No?"

"No. because if you were, I wouldn't have to worry. Don't you try to fool me."

"Tell me how to make you stop."

"You can't."

Andrei sighed, entire crux going into that exhale.

And Ellis clamped his nipple.

"Ow! _Stop!_"

So she did.

Then that area was kissed, that tinge an attempt at healing.

"I'm sorry, my baby. If you really don't want to tell me, then you don't have to. But I need you to promise me something."

"What is that?"

"That I'll see you again once you've done whatever it is you're going to do."

The silence made that little woman uneasy. "Andrei, _promise me._"

"I promise, Ellis."

"No really, promise me."

"_I promise._ Truly. I promise."

"Say it again."

"I promise."

"Again."

"I promise. I promise I promise I promise I promise." Andrei kissed his bride. "I promise."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes love. I am."

"So do you promise?"

"Да! I promise!"

She laughed. "I'm sorry. I have to be sure." Lips molded as one grand mass of clay, those kernels shaping together and combusting as a firework, remnants falling everywhere within that darkened plane.

"I love you, Andrei."

"I love you too."

"Good. Are you still tired?"

"Yes, I am."

"Really?" A sigh. "You men…"

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Well that's alright." Kisses exchanged. Affection blossoming. "I'll get you tomorrow. Good night, Andrei."

"Good night, Ellis."

Sleep.


	41. Chapter 41

God Damn it.

God damn it.

God damn it.

What was he planning?

_What was he planning? _

Dmitri sat in his room, thinking. But his brain dragged him everywhere. He sat by the window; he glanced in the drawers; he went outside; he went inside. Dmitri tore himself in half, and bleeding upon the floor, he choked upon his regret and future.

Andrei was going to do something.

Something.

And Dmitri had asked him what.

But he had been denied. Everyone was denied.

Not one person knew what that crimson-furred rat had planned. To know, one would need to become a crimson-furred rat themselves. However, Dmitri was not willing to dye that flesh scarlet. There was no paint. There was no blood meant to stain.

So what was he to do?"

Andrei had caused trouble, hadn't he?

Stealing.

Burning.

Destroying.

That was enough. It was utterly clear.

His brother was a trouble maker.

Even when Dmitri was a Bolshevik, he had never done such things. He had never taken books from the library with no intention of returning them; he never brought down entire factories; he had never even committed crime. At least, he had attempted not to. No person is without sin.

So what was Dmitri to do with his identical brother?

The one who shared his mother's womb with him.

The one who had held his hand through adversity and all those terrible memories.

They had seen everything together. Death. Life. Sacrifice. Love. Hate. Happiness. Sorrow. All of it.

So what was it? Family or Society?

It all depended on who exactly was beneath the knife.

Was Andrei truly going to kill the tsar?

Dmitri had his suspicions.

It was not difficult to put together, if that theory was indeed correct. The invitation was requested, on the very night of that meeting. And who was the central focus of that affair?

But Dmitri _prayed_ he was not correct. That they were to do something else. Nothing to the gathering. Nothing to do with Tsar Nicholas. Nothing at all.

Still, common sense told him that prayer would not even be read. It would be converted to ash and kept in an urn amongst all the other blind and gutted hopes.

God damn it.

Simply, the adopted aristocrat lied upon his ruined ocean of silken covers, sights squeezed tightly, as though juice was being wrung from a lemon.

Despite the times, Dmitri loved his brother. No. Dmitri _adored_ his brother. Andrei was his _blood._ They shared the same face, figure, stature, color. They shared the same _veins._

And that was what made the decision so very hard.

So _fucking_ hard.

Recollection was stacked tall as towers.

Andrei and Dmitri were deeply rooted as ancient oak trees. Their very branches were tangled. They read one another's minds. They were exactly the same.

At least they used to be.

And in that indecision, Dmitri wept.

He had not cried since his mother had passed.

Truly released that boiling sorrow.

He remembered the past. The stolen books during Christmas. The embraces born in unfettered solace. The games of tag and the snow balls thrown. The time spent reading. The time spent at their mother's side. As she put them to bed. As she taught them to read. As she taught them to be good. As she held them when they hurt themselves. Kissing scrapes, cuts, welds, anything. Simply kissing cheeks. How they were held together at Natasha's side. How they would sleep at her flank when they grew so afraid during the night.

How they were a family.

Just a sweet, cozy family.

And already, they had been destroyed.

They fought. Their mother had fallen six feet from her pedestal. The paper flowers and dirt devoured her once fertile flesh. Dmitri was an aristocrat, Andrei- A Bolshevik.

The entire universe had crumbled. The snake turned upon its tail. The rattle had bite marks. The younger cleaved his corpse in two.

What had happened?

Why did that precious porcelain vase shatter?

The filthy noble convulsed into himself, and no clear choice rose above that grand tornado.


	42. Chapter 42

Dmitri asked again.

He had been asking all week.

"Andrei, tell me what you're going to do."

"Dmitri, we've been over this."

So they had a standoff of stares. The younger and the elder, the two brothers, the twins. However, their gazes reflected in different aspects. Dmitri's eyes ached. He welled with emotion. His heart burst as a fire work across the sky, light inhabiting the black, erasing the stars.

He was choked with love and hatred, those sentiments gnawing at his crux as weeds engulfing an entire field; absolutely nothing remained.

How he admired his brother. How he hated his actions. How he wished to stop him. How he wished he would change.

What had become of them?

Had they burst into ashes?

But only one was reborn.

The other was far too stubborn.

Cores bled.

"Please, Andrei." I don't want to betray you. "Please don't kill the tsar."

The only sunflower was torn from its root. That blow was struck at the center.

"You're not going to be able to do it. You've never killed a man. I know you haven't. You'll approach him and stop because I know you're not heartless enough to take a life. No matter how deep your hatred runs. Please."

The Bolshevik did not have words. They all blistered and fell.

"_You can't do it!_" Dmitri became encased in frustration. "Don't you understand? You're going to take a _life!_ Destroy an _entire _person! You're not that heartless! _You're not!_ Call it off! _Just call it off!_"

Again, that air space.

"Say something, God damn it!"

"Dmitri…"

The younger swallowed hard, those eyes glassy. Painted and coated in lacquer.

"I can't. I'm sorry. Sometimes, we have to do things that may not seem right. But they are. I don't matter. I'm just one person on the face of the entire world. One Russian in all of Russia. My life would be meaningless unless I do something worthwhile. I would rather die tomorrow having made a difference than live a thousand years having done nothing. Sacrifices have to be made, and I have an opportunity to change the world. That's something very few people can even hope to imagine. I would be a fool not to take it."

"You idiot! Don't you care about anything else?"

No answer.

"They're going to kill you the moment you come close. How are you even going to sneak past all those guards? You won't make _one damn bit_ of difference! All you're going to do is get yourself killed!"

"I have to try."

"You don't have to try _anything!_ Let someone else so it! Let fucking Lenin do it, for all I care! But you're _my brother!_ You're the only one I have!" The passion became far too heavy, and Dmitri folded beneath it, collapsing against his sibling's bed, face smothered by a mask of palms. "Я тебя люблю. Why don't you understand that?"

Andrei took a spot next to his brother, wrapping those long arms around him. "I love you too, Dmitri. But things need to change."

Dmitri's tears came even faster, that blood boiling within his veins.

"How could you?"

There was no longer a choice.

"_How could you?_"

Sight forward.

No. There was no longer an option. Andrei's love was not enough to keep Dmitri when it came to the base; his essence was simply not red enough.

So Dmitri secured his own interests.

The thoughts did not formulate perfectly.

But they were clear enough.

"How could you?"

"I'm sorry, Dmitri."

That's how the dialogue seemed to go. How could you? I'm sorry. How could you? I'm sorry. How could you?

I'm sorry.

The anger boiled. The regret flayed the aristocrat's skin. The field of weeds had been made a conflagration. The entity in its entirety burned. Smoke leapt form Dmitri's mouth; it caused his gaze to turn foggy. Blue to grey. Blood to crimson. Peach to black.

He became something hard.

Something twisted.

Something broken.

How could you, Andrei?

How could you leave me no choice?


	43. Chapter 43

Dmitri walked down those streets, each step attached to a cinder block. His heart leaned against his ribs. His chest ached from the unbearable pressure, and finally, it burst; an explosion into the void.

The light led him, beckoning him, telling him that no matter what, he was doing the right thing.

You're doing the right thing.

You're doing the right thing.

You're doing the right thing.

So stop holding so much fear.

The church bells were ringing. It was Sunday.

It would be his day had he still attended to a job.

Dmitri fought back his emotion as those eyes welled in their contemplation. Orbs ornate in every word lips could not favor. Blond lashes were damp. The whole world was stopping, falling forward upon its breaks and catching. What would be beyond the crash, the causalities? The Russians upon either side were killed within the slaughter. It was no longer a question of how red one was.

Had it ever been?

Of course it had.

That's how that grand mess began. All commencing with that impassioned little Bolshevik named Andrei. A grimace upon society's cheek. They all were. Rats tearing at the tapestries in the palace, leaving holes in everything, evidence that was so silent, one would need to search to find it.

But once that underworld was located, one could seek out all the demons, all so clearly.

The street was heavy.

The concrete held to those fine shoes as a leach to an open wound.

Yet there was still so many steps left to complete.

Dmitri managed to walk on, staring at all the life gathered about those sallow streets.

Anger boiled within his blood, sadness soiled his heart. A mixture of both utterly conquered his mind. The whole of Russia became cloudy.

Turn around.

You're doing the right thing.

Go home.

You're doing the right thing.

He's still your _brother._

You're doing the right thing.

You can _still_ go back.

_You're doing the right thing. _

It's not too late.

The right thing.

The right thing.

The right thing.

Three words that choked him tight as a noose.

It was amazing the man could still walk, despite the suffocation.

Suddenly, the police station stood before those cramping feet.

Dmitri walked inside, to that front desk.

"Excuse me; can I speak to someone privately? I have information that's incredibly important."

"Regarding what?" The young man working there took his gaze from the paper being addressed.

Dmitri paused, then whispered. "The Bolsheviks." Those syllables attempted to swallow themselves. Because now they boy faced the cliff, and did not know if the cord was strong enough to hold.

Again, the earth creaked.

"Что?"

"The Bolsheviks." The sound quivered. "I have information."

"Are you certain?"

"Completely."

"Hold on a moment."

As that diligent worker rose, the faux aristocrat could feel his crux faltering, attempting to function, stumbling. Standing with bones chattering. The blood was rushing from his mouth, but no one would spot it. Only he could feel that pool gathering about the front of his blouse. The buttons were drowning.

Oh look, Dmitri. You've just killed yourself.

As the light hid beneath those walls, and the entire room drew nearer, Dmitri was greeted again by the man who was once centered about that oaken bureau.

"Excuse me, but will you go to that back room? The detectives wish to speak with you."

"Да. Спасибо…"

So Dmitri walked to that backroom, a poorly lighted little cell, and he sat amongst those few men in the chair they had offered him, each of them watching that near child as lions to raw meat, anticipating any information willing to rip from those scarlet stained lips.

For a bare second, glassy frames pulled upon the handsomely marred buttons lining those figures, their impressive fabrics, their powerful faces, their combed mustaches. Their badges. The weighty authority.

They used to fear them. Those Policemen and their pistols.

"Hello, young man. Please tell us anything you can. It would be a great help."

Those lips gaped.

"They're planning to kill the tsar; my brother and his companions. Every Tuesday they meet in an old store room and make their plans."

A pause.

"They've burned down buildings and caused all sorts of trouble, and I can't watch any longer."

"Your brother?"

"Yes. We were quite poor until we began living with our father. Even so, Andrei still remained a Bolshevik." The sentiments dangled within the air. "I used to go to the meetings, because he had asked me to, and I felt the need to look after him, but I haven't gone in quite a while. I never could be one of them…"

The police thought.

"My father received an invitation from the tsar not long ago. and we were allowed to go. I know my brother is planning an assassination, involving a few other like-minded thinkers. And if not, well. They've caused enough problems." Tears rolled from the younger brother's face, reflective droplets creating paths upon flesh pallid as winter.

"He's my twin brother, but it's not so hard to tell us apart. Andrei's hands are stained red from making dye at a soap factory." Tone shook, mounds twisted and convulsed. Dmitri breathed hard.

Here he was, giving words of utter gold to men with rope and knives. They did not come tethered. They could not be claimed back. They were gone now, collected and sold all for a profit the producer would never see.

Oh look Dmitri.

You've just killed your brother.

"I'm sorry." Who was he apologizing to?

"That's alright. You're doing the right thing…Will you tell us where this location is?"

A nod. "I'll write it."

So that address was recorded; the ink might as well have been his sibling's essence, spilled around his feet. How convenient. How easy. How simple. How barbaric.

The police asked more questions.

Dmitri squeezed out more answers, a lemon shredded of its juice. An orange bled to the pulp. A body drained to the marrow. And after they pillaged that entire story, devoured it all and printed it, that source was allowed free, for there was nothing left of him to take.

The faux aristocrat marched home with tears bitter as poison lacing those lashes, those platinum lashes, those lashes he shared with his sibling.

His former sibling.

The one who used to inhabit the other half of his soul.

That one.

Look what you've just destroyed.

The ornate bed took up a lump, and the tumor refused to move. It only developed into cancer and grew sicklier. No one had seen him, not even the one he was sucking the breath from, despite being planted upon his shoulder as a festering mold.


	44. Chapter 44

Everything occurred in slow motion. The gun fire. The break in. The panic. All of it. They were strewn about the ground, some of them dead, the ones who tried to defend themselves. Some bleeding from falling upon broken glass. But the adrenaline rushed. In every case, it moved as static through wire.

The handcuffs went on.

They were all dragged away.

Stowed in the back of trucks and shipped to prison.

And Andrei sat, his frame soggy with tears, however he would not weep. Simply, those welted sapphires struck each of the faces of his comrades, all wearing the same gaze he displayed. Dismayed. Forlorn. Lost. It was over then. They all knew it.

Their minds filled with the thoughts of their loved ones. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, fiancés.

Andrei thought of Ellis.

He had failed her the most. A promise was made, and he had broken it. Let it fall into the chasm and shatter every last bone. For her, the proud Bolshevik would sob. For her. For Ellis.

For her, his heart wretched, fraught with sorrow. Andrei only wished he could apologize.

They landed within their cells, their names recorded, their identities lost, now belonging to someone far more vindictive. Within that prison, the light was null, and even God had fled. He did not love the law breakers. He would not save them even when they prayed.

But that did not prevent the convicts from trying.

That night, there was no sleep. That night, hands were clapped together and prayer drained in unison. Some men for their families, some men for themselves. Some men for the cause. Some men for sweet women named Ellis Edelstein. All of them for forgiveness.

All of them for scant hope.

All of them for that old ideal labeled salvation, that only the angels and clergy men possessed.

And there was no ridicule.

Upon those hours, they allowed their beliefs to the mud, caked beneath their knees.

For God was their last chance.

The law had said they were done producing their own opportunity.

The law had said they were done.

So they prayed.

It was all they could do.

It was all that was left.


	45. Chapter 45

The woman had arrived with tears brewing inside her eyes, those lips bent, attempting to close that great hole within her core, but only managed to make it far larger. The sorrow had stripped her face, washed the rouge from her cheeks and made that raven hair even blacker. It composed her fate, a mess tucked beneath an old scarf. The doll had aged thirty years in a series of two days.

"Only a few minutes, miss."

"Yes, thank you."

Ellis had begged the guard to let her see her darling Andrei. How could she be refused with such a sad portrayal of emotion?

With enough anguish, she bought her rights.

The nurse walked down that line, her boots clicking upon the dark and hard floor. The man's eyes hooked to her as a knife destroys butter. Her petit figure, her oval shaped face, her inky tresses, those lips made to the hue of red wine.

But that nymph sought only Andrei.

And finally, she had found him.

They stood across from one another, an iron wall separating them. However their eyes remained locked.

"Ellis."

"Don't you dare. You made a promise. Now look at you." That little woman wiped her eyes. "What's going to happen?" Those palms held the iron, that bracelet touching to the frigid metal.

Andrei could not convey that truth.

It would be over within a week.

That was all.

"Ellis, don't worry about me." The red handed palm wiped the tears from the Austrian-Hungarian's eyes.

"Are they going to murder you?"

There was only silence. That inquiry met a quiet truth.

"Andrei!"

"Ellis, I'm sorry…"

"_What are they going to do to you?_ Tell me."

"We're all going to hanged next Wednesday." A different voice.

Andrei only looked at his love with a gaze saturated in apology. He touched her delicate hands. "I'm sorry, darling. The Bolshevik's lips convulsed a moment. "I love you…And I always will love you. Please remember that, Ellis."

"What am I going to do, Andrei? We were supposed to be married. This isn't right. It can't be anything but a terrible nightmare, _that's all._" She leaned upon the bars. "How could you be caught? I had already caught you…_You were mine._"

"I know Ellis. I know I was…"

It was within that silence that the Lorelei's weeping flourished. Her sobs filled the hall. To every wall, her noise projected, infecting that space, taking the hearts of all the men who had lost their women. Their hearts plunged to the concrete floor. Some of those wives and mothers had shared an opposite fate. They had gone, killed by the poverty and cholera and bled to death in the factories. That's why they were the way they were. Proud. Red. Arrested. Marked. Dead. None made that sacrifice for themselves. It was for the men and women. The children. The workers. The people of Russia. For Russia itself.

They were going to lose their lives for her. For Mother Russia. For that grand goddess' blood. For her core, red as the flesh of a fresh apple.

There was no shame for that cause, for that purpose. No shame for the red ruby being made to sit upon her brow. No shame for the good of the workers.

No. That band of Bolsheviks did not regret what they had done, not even for a moment.

They only wished the government could understand _what_ they had done. They did not consider themselves to be bad men.

"Andrei…" Ellis wiped those gems. "I need to tell you something. If this is truly the end."

"If course."

"After my first marriage, I didn't know it I could even be with another man again. But you were kind to me, and somehow, my heart started to beat again. So, I want to thank you. I was beginning to think that kindness was something nonexistent, but…" Those frames flooded. "You're wonderful, and I love you."

"I love you too."

"Almost time to wrap it up…" The guard called from the end of that hall.

The misery struck as a vindictive hammer.

"Ellis, will you tell my father something for me?"

"Of course."

"Will you thank him for me? And tell him that I'm sorry. That he's a good man." A pause. "Also, that I love him."

Ellis nodded.

"Спасибо."

"Of course, of course." Cheeks cleaned. "Andrei, do you know who did this to you?"

"No, love. I don't."

Of course he did. Andrei knew damn well that his brother had locked him away, told the police everything he had known and prevented that wondrous change from sweeping about those starving fields.

But that information was not needed. All those men were not desperate for someone to despise, only something to hope for. Dmitri was not required to become the scapegoat. For anger, at that moment, was a vindictive flood. The men were enraged enough. That former fiancé was enraged enough. The heart of Russia was enraged enough.

Of course, Andrei held that grand burn within his blood, but for once, he kept that spreading conflagration within his own chambers. Burning down the entire prison would be unfair. There was far too much gasoline left to lie about that narrow hall.

"Miss, it's time to go."

The woman cleared her snow hued flesh, the sentiment draining her of any rich hue. How somber that crux. How worn her visage.

"Good-bye, Andrei."

"Good-bye, Ellis."

And that was all there was.

Palls descended upon those bodies.

Wet mouths desiccated.

Souls prepared to wither.


	46. Chapter 46

It was that fated day, the dawn of the hours that they all had been awaiting. With dread. With relish. With regret.

It began with solemn colors. A black dress. Black gloves. Black heels. A scarlet scarf secured about that mass of beautiful black hair. Eye shadow. Rouge. Composure, doused upon her face as a flood from the clouds.

The fiancé to the babushka.

Oh look, Dmitri. You've killed Ellis.

The little bird flew to Ivan Braginski, tears within her eyes before she even had the chance to retake her consciousness from comforting dreams.

She sat where his younger and now only son typically sat. Dmitri had fled and no one could find him. That twin had dissipated into the atmosphere, broke apart and fled. A vase broken and the liquid inside it drying up.

"Hello, Ellis."

Either was extremely aware of that day. The day when the former and the latter dissipated and there was only the child. No more elder. No more younger. No more first and last. Only one.

"Mr. Braginski, are you coming?"

"I can't watch my son die." Those old wise eyes were left lidded. "Truly, I can't even think of it. I knew what he was, but…I didn't want to acknowledge it. He wasn't a Bolshevik; Andrei was just my son."

"And he was me love."

Then came the black waves. The gust of silent wind.

"Perhaps it doesn't mean much now, but I was looking forward to having you as my daughter-in-law, Ellis."

"Thank you, sir…" Crystalline emotion was made to disappear, and that heart broke within those pupils. How would she bare it? To even stand within that place, that grand public square and watch as they stole the entire universe from her calloused palms? They were to live in the hills and bring a family from wondrous soil. Now, the grass had died. The trees had sunk back into the earth, and the woman's mouth was terribly dry. Her wings torn from that sore back, as they had been the first time. Her throat cut and another life taken directly from her crux. Andrei held the world, and now, the world held Andrei.

Color evaporated from her flesh, all while fresh crimson engulfed her lips. The front of her blouse made a sea around her ankles.

Ellis had lost her spirit.

It fled from her.

"I love you, Mr. Braginski." The broken angel wept for that barren earth, that lost green, the essence running into the man's lavish rugs. All the tarnished beauty. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Ellis." The large man rose, managing to embrace that trinket within those strong limbs. "It's alright."

But it was not. They both knew it was not. Their silver had all been robbed. But those words were of such wondrous comfort; Ellis accepted them as the starving woman to an entire table of delicacies. She drank of them greedily, the wine bottle voided and tossed ravenously to the boards.

God had demanded too much of either of their gardens, taking ripe red apples, the oranges from the branches and all the peaches that were not overly plump or far too meager. The grapes perfect as diamonds, the strawberries wondrous as rotund pearls.

Their centers left their sight.

The whole of Russia turned bitter grey.

Then the man went to his sheets, and the woman to her roads and savage public. To see the example being made. The example created. There would be no change. No compromise. Nothing.

So the more powerful portion of society could stomp upon the hope of those peasants.

She could hardly walk.

But through labored steps, that doll came to her performance. The poor woman did not even need a ticket to that event. No, no. It was utterly free.

And she listened to the crowd. Listened as she watched that empty stage, those lonely ropes waiting patiently to break the neck of some man with passion inside his veins.

Some were excited to see such a monstrous act. Some were miserable, for it was from their family the beast claimed its victims, that huge breathing thing made of fire, metal, steam, lies and aristocrats. The same breast that devoured her Andrei whole.

Was it in her destiny to suffer?

Had God merely dropped fortune into her needy and starving hands merely to claim it back within an instance? Steal the food from her lips when a bite had hardly been taken?

It seemed to be her fate. This harsh irony.

The earth held still as those scarifies were brought upon the platform. The crowd staring, a certain respect drifted about them.

Ellis moved forward as far as she could.

It was her last chance to say good-bye.

They did not let her visit that marked man past her primary arrival.

Before she even saw him, those eyes spit up sentiment.

Then the rats were lowered into the fire, with Andrei centered in the line. They cast their glances to the audience. Their mothers and fathers. Their friends. Their enemies. Their little nymphs named Ellis, who would not allow them to die alone.

Never.

Never.

The German speaking princess stared at that man, recalling all they had done within one another's sights. The first meeting, the sweet conversations between touching lips, the hours allotted to dust standing at the side of Natasha's grave. All of the paper flowers. All the 'I love you's in Russian, in German, in gibberish.

Я тебя люблю.

_Ich liebe dich._

I love you.

All going up in smoke.

They tied the cord around their necks. Andrei's eyes met with hers. His whole life came before his eyes. His mother, his brother, his father, Ellis. _Her._ That sweet little nurse who had agreed to be his. Those lime green gems sparkling within their sorrow.

Andrei recalled his own Sorrow. His own Happiness. His Love. His Hate. His Life, and now his Death. With the same form of loss marring his once bright mirrors.

Oh look, Dmitri. You've just killed your brother.

Their mouths put words without sound in motion.

'Andrei.'

'Ellis.'

'I love you. _Ich liebe dich_, my darling.'

'I love you too. I'm so sorry…'

'It's alright.' The tears flooded her logic. They saturated her core. Hey choker her own soul. Ellis almost fell, but she could not buckle. Not until she had said good-bye to her darling. Her hero. Her martyr.

It's alright.

It's alright.

"Good-bye…" That came with a voice shrunken and executed. "Good-bye, Andrei."

"Good-bye, Ellis." The proud man, with no regrets, gulped, trying so incredibly hard not to bawl. For he was not allowed to be three years old. After all; he would be twenty two when he passed.

The guards announced something. They called out those men's names, so the whole city could hear. They announced their crimes, so the papers would take note.

And the whole world watched.

Ellis.

Natasha, at her side.

Ivan, in his nest, coiled up in despair.

Dmitri, present at his other's graves, with streams taking up his entire visage, demanding why that woman had her fade.

And even Franz, who glanced out that cold window with glassy sights, holding the hand of Mr. Braginski.

Then the bottom of the platform dropped away.

And with it, Andrei fell.

Ellis was finally allowed to sink her knees into that pliable earth. Her nails clawed at it, for she could not watch.

As the Bolshevik struggled, he closed his eyes, his kicked his legs. He forgot the entire universe, and he became a child again, running to his mother with outstretched arms and a pregnant stomach. Finally, there she was, after a torturous set of months, her image surrounded by light and her lips glistening in a heavenly curl. But her eyes too, were streaked with a kind of anguish.

His body convulsed, but that man just kept running, legs determined. Arms determined. Heart determined. For her would find Natasha again.

"Mother…"

Then finally, after five good minutes, that body quit, and that neck snapped and the formerly known 'Andrei' was left a shell. A beautiful young man with such lucid azure wells and dull blond hair, all composed of clay and bone. And that was all.

Everything else had been paralyzed.

Even Ellis, who remained in the mud, watched her darling drift upon that fatal rope, with so many of his companions, his comrades. His friends.

Друг

Those letters each weighed far too much.

And she remained with her corpse, sobbing, until night ate the sky, and misery could not properly form.

Then Ellis went home, dirt marring her dress, a porcelain doll buried and dug up again.

And that was the life of Andrei Braginski.

And that was the death of Ellis Edelstein.

Oh look, Dmitri.

Look at what you've done.


	47. Chapter 47

Three days after the execution, they found Dmitri hanging from the tree so near that former home. The rope had been loosened; his huge blue corpse lowered from the branches.

They laid him upon the ground, the dirt and the gravel shifting beneath all his weight, the blood having become disproportionate.

Those still azure eyes glanced into the sky, to those sweet masses of pure sugar and milk to the land of abundance and relief, where he had sent his brother. Lips were parted as though he had spoken something just as life was severed.

Dmitri Braginski had ceased to exist.

Upon his chest, a note was pinned.

'I'm sorry.' That was all.

Oh look, Dmitri. You've killed yourself.

No. You had died long ago. But instead of true death, you suffered through metamorphosis.

Gregor had become the insect.

Dmitri had turned to the traitor.

At least he finally knew what he was.

And veins were far too clogged with guilt to go on any longer. So the system took its roots from the ground and wilted within the moon light, having become frigid and desolate the next morning.

There was hardly any surprise when that bombshell was dropped upon the aristocrat's door step. They were far too busy within their own hole to notice the scarlet sky and all the corpses lined up outside.

Besides, all of them knew who had inflicted the damage.

Anyone who knew Dmitri would certainly guess he would repent in some manner.

There it was.

The only one who cried was that Russian man, Ivan Braginski. For he knew loss too well to desire its presence a second time. But there it was. Sickle and cadavers all.

After that, figures had grown cold, and the members of that home engorged upon pleasantries marched forward, that fire in their hearts extinguished as the mere wick of a naïve candle. Ellis dressed solemnly. Franz remained silent. Mr. Braginski fell into the void of unfixable disease.

And somehow, those broken fragments crawled forward, through the funerals. Through the burials. Through the hell. Through the high water.

Eventually, they would stand again. But upon stronger limbs.


	48. Epilogue

The weeks went on after that grand accident. God and misfortune seeming to leave those seeds where they lied, then watched what deformed and beautiful plants they grew into.

Ivan seemed to revert deeper into his ailment. Taking in more medicine. Sleeping in lavish amounts. Requiring more from those perpetual caretakers. However, Ellis came into that room every single day and read to him, that German accent fading a little more each time one of those rotund novels sat against her growing stomach.

Andrei had left her with something.

Ellis was eternally thankful.

They did not live on the hills. They did not have six children, but there was certainly one, that one child throwing the pads of its minute feet into the edges of her womb, fraught and frustrated with all its life.

Sometimes Ivan would wake long enough to see that fertile mound and make comment. "Oh, Ellis. You're pregnant…" As though he had forgotten; chalked up that phenomenon to a medicine induced high, where reality blended within all those twisting and somber dreams.

Then came the delirious smile, and the man would forfeit all his consciousness.

Eventually, nine months had come and fell, and the child was born. This time the mother had help. Franz held her right hand, Andrei held her left, and Ellis cried and pushed and cried and pushed until that infant fled from her body, kicking and screaming even louder than she had.

It was a girl.

So she was named Sonya.

Then the mother sobbed, having seen God a second time. The pain fled from her body as though it had all simply been imagined. That fresh life was held close, and those cries strong enough to cause an earthquake had ceased.

The woman could feel all their happiness. She could feel Andrei wrapping his arms around her, kissing her a thousand, a million, an innumerable amount of times. Telling her over and over how proud he was.

Franz offered her some time to rest as the child was presented to that sleeping grandfather.

And a few months proceeding Sonya's birth, when the spring once again cleansed the land of all its snow and darkness, a letter came in the mail. Franz invaded the nymph's room, holding that torn parchment to the mother as her darling little blond doll slept within her arms.

It was read over numerous times before Ellis could even spit an answer from her desiccated tongue.

"I have to go home."

Franz offered his sister a nod. "Are you going to take Sonya with you?"

"Yes. _Ja._ Did you tell them about her?"

"No. Not yet. It wasn't in my place…"

There was silence. And the mother cast her gaze out of that foggy black window. Finally, they had answered her heart's incoherent begging. Finally, all those months of sobbing and hopeless demand had brought something tangible.

Hans had been dropped into the grasps of her parents. That terrible man had been locked away and custody had been granted to the lovely and perfect Mr. and Mrs. Edelstein.

They said in their missive that he was quiet and incredibly introverted. However, his trust was slowly dripping, as honey from the mouth of the bottle, and that boyish warmth spreading all about him as sunrise from the base of the horizon.

They asked Ellis to come home.

Please, come home.

As if she had a choice.

Finally, the distraught nurse could forgive. Finally, after nearly three years of bitter separation, she could see her mother and father again. There could be forgiveness. The winter clear from the earth. The son would be reunited with the mother.

Ellis left as soon as possible, saying her good-byes to Mr. Braginski, as well as her darling brother. They understood that she needed to quit. The woman had two children to care for. And finally, it was time to go home.

Ellis did not know if she would return to St. Petersburg. Either man advised her not to, as that grand constitution was cracking perfectly in two. But there would certainly be visits. It was harsh to take that pretty little girl from her grandfather and uncle, two men who loved her dearly. She learned to kiss them, placing an open mouth over what parts of their faces she could attain. Then Sonya would scream. It was a definite sign of love.

The only part of her that was her mother were those staggering green gems, saturated in intelligence and so abundant with curiosity.

So the pair, the daughter and loving goddess, took a train and arrived in Vienna, babbling in gibberish to one another, distracting that broken thing from each of those howling thoughts.

And suddenly, through all the occupation, Ellis found herself at her childhood home, staring down those gigantic doors. Somehow she managed to knock upon that towering surface with tears forming inside her eyes. There was no preparation for that moment. There was not a way to capture such a heavy boulder.

The porthole opened, and there was that man, looking as young and handsome as he always did, shock overtaking those sapphires. The same pair none of his children kept.

"Father…May I please see Hans?" Ellis spoke in perfect German.

But the man did not answer. Not with something so stupid and inconvenient as word. Those arms devoured her, holding her and her protesting child in close, as though she would never be allowed from that handsome stoop another time.

"I'm so sorry, Ellis. Thank you. Thank you for returning home."

In barely a second, that pile was joined by another form, the mother, the Hungarian woman Elizaveta. Who was sobbing before her figure even reached that wondrous cluster. She kissed her daughter. She kissed her daughter's daughter. She kissed her husband. Sometimes, she missed and kissed nothing at all.

"Oh, Ellis. You're back. You're _home._"

For a lonely tick, they all separated and the grandmother claimed that little child from her darling's exhausted shoulder.

"Hans is in your old study, reading a book." Elizaveta wiped the steady stream from her face. "What is her name?"

"Sonya."

A nod, and that woman was off, leaving her little girl to be gawked at by that still happy couple, pressing their lips to her plump and rosy cheeks while she called out and did the same.

It was astonishing how fast that little nurse could run.

The barrier between her and the study was knocked into pieces.

The little boy inside it glanced to her, lost.

"Hello." Such quiet life.

"Hello. I'm Ellis…" That mouth froze. "I'm you mother." Sentiment flowing as blood from a wound. "May I please hold you?"

"Yes…"

So Ellis held her son.

Later that day, she explained the story to her parents, as Elizaveta cradled that tiny girl, her body limp with sleep. And they listened. And they wept with her. And they admired that poor muse, who fate had finally been kind to.

And after miserable years, Ellis forgave them, wholly. Their love and million apologies were accepted. Their hearts were accepted. The past was accepted. That life was accepted. And Ellis was grateful. So grateful, she glanced up at the sky and smiled, the hand of her son secured inside her petit fingers and her daughter held within the other arm.

That conflict was resolved. That conflict that had began when she was seventeen years old. That conflict that birthed a beautiful son with her deep black hair and a happy little girl with her eyes caught on fire.

And back in Russia sat the rest of that minute family.

But they did not remain in Russia for long.

As that country buckled and choked and fell, Ivan and Franz made their plans to run. They ran all the way to Paris, taking what little they could.

But before they ran, Mr. Braginski had Natasha's poor corpse relocated into a true graveyard. Placed within a glorious mahogany coffin, and buried next to either of her unfortunate sons.

Then they went to France.

And then they remembered their Français.

And as they remembered their Français, Mr. Braginski began to sing again. With each note that left his mouth, those muscles regained their bulk. Those bones seemed to function once again. From the darkness and sour earth grew a bliss that had been slaughtered so many times before. But nothing could steal Ivan's voice away.

No longer was he an aristocrat.

No longer was he bound by those horrendous rules and mangled protocol.

As he ran out of funds, he ran out of the need for a doctor, having healed.

Perhaps it was the air within that city. Perhaps it was the escape from the prison. From the sorrow. Perhaps from all those graves. Perhaps it was simply Russia itself that made him so unwell.

But finally, the man could breath.

And not only could he breath, but he could _sing_.

So Dr. Edelstein was let go. Because the man was a pauper and truly, he flourished within Paris as a sun flower to wondrous soil. Ivan located a job within that city, a character of the theater.

Franz came to all his performances. There were plenty of the sick to keep after, and he too, did just fine in France.

In an odd way, Ivan thanked the Bolsheviks. They would have destroyed him, but they gave him a definite reason to leave. They took him from that miserable duty and allowed him that old voice, remaining loyal as a dog to its master.

He found himself signing a plethora of autographs.

It seemed that fate was both kind and cruel. The harshness would arrive, knock over towers, set conflagrations, take children and deliver sorrow. But the kindness came after the blood was paid. The trampled upon flowers spit their seeds into the earth. New life grew in their place. Baby girls named Sonya. Operas in Paris. Release form back-breaking work.

When adversity came, a window was opened, and the men and women were able to escape, to run with their fortune and misfortune.

The sorrow would always remain, but it did not blackout the sun. The blessings were seen. They were appreciated and life danced rapidly forward, tossing Sonya into new dresses and countries into war.

But it was alright.

So went life.

Hardship and Happiness. Curses and Blessings. Sometimes all at once.

So went life.

So went the heart.

Even in pain, there was hope; there was always hope.

So the earth marched forward.

So went life.


End file.
